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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25689877">At the break of dawn</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDanishGirl/pseuds/TheDanishGirl'>TheDanishGirl</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Battle of Hogwarts, Character Death, Death Eaters, Dementors, Denial of Feelings, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Horcrux Hunting, Horcruxes, Loss of Virginity, Magic, Malfoy Manor, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Hermione Granger, Plot, Potions, Racism, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Slow Romance, The Deathly Hallows, Torture, Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:35:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>127,867</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25689877</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDanishGirl/pseuds/TheDanishGirl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn’t feel like dancing, he would much rather observe. </p><p>He only danced one other dance with Pansy, as she stubbornly clung to his side, pouting the whole time and whining about how unfair it was that they didn’t dance. He was annoyed but danced with her, nonetheless. Just to shut her up. </p><p>Flashes of blue at the centre of the dancefloor and sunkissed skin. </p><p>As soon as possible he ditched Pansy, leaving her with her friends. He spent his time stalking the room, creeping along the walls, and seeing flashes of blue and a brilliant smile.<br/>An unknown emotion rolled around his stomach. He was angry but at the same time sad. And he saw flashes of blue and caramel eyes with gold flecks sparkling in the torchlight. </p><p>He stood by some students from Dumstrang, only half listening to their conversation about pretty French girls.<br/>And there were flashes of blue and the sound of a clear and pretty laughter..</p><p> </p><p>So, I absolutely suck at summaries! Please forgive this horrible attempt. I hope you will give this fic a chance anyway.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>145</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>363</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Beginning part I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The characters and universe is owned by J.K. Rowling. I own nothing. This will not change.</p><p>This is my first fic. I'm super nervous and hope you will enjoy it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Draco </strong>
</p><p>1991</p><p>“Granger, Hermione,” McGonogall’s voice called. The older witch looked down on the group of first years, eyes searching for one particular student over her rimmed glasses. McGonogall stood tall and striking in her elegant moss-green robes, her black hair in a neatly updo.</p><p>Draco watched as what could only be described as a bird’s nest with legs ascend the two steps up to the stool on which the Sorting Hat sat. The girl’s hands trembled slightly as neared the stool and McGonogall lifted the old hat so the girl – what was her name again? – could take place on the stool. With her face turned towards the Draco and the rest of the students, he was quite surprised to see that there indeed was a face hidden under the bird’s nest. She had a look of uncertainty on her face.</p><p><em>Must be a Mudblood,</em> Draco mused.Only Mudbloods would look uneasy around this much magic.</p><p>The Sorting Hat was lowered on her frizzy, unruly hair making it near impossible for the Hat to be put on her head properly. As soon as the old withered thing had ben put upon her head, she jumped a bit on the stool. Draco could feel the Great Hall hold its breath, waiting to hear the Hats decision. But so far there was only silence. Draco grew quite bored and looked around the Great Hall instead. Behind the Bird’s Nest was the staff’s table. Draco could see Professor Dumbledore, blue eyes twinkling down at everybody. He wore a purple robe with yellow details. His long white beard had a purple ribbon halfway down its length. He didn’t know the other professors. They were all strangers still. A few places in front of him stood a boy with fiery red hair and a hand-me-down-robe, which was almost brown in colour instead of black. A Weasley most likely. His hair was almost a beacon amongst the first-year students, attracting Draco’s attention shortly. He let his gaze wander further as the Sorting Hat still pondered Bird’s Nest’s House. The Great Hall was clad in a soft light from the flowing candle lights and the enchanted ceiling showed the stars in the sky. There were no clouds this evening and the stars twinkled down on him. The banners from each House hung from the walls, making the Great Hall a festive of yellow, black, blue, bronze, green, silver, red, and gold. To Draco’s right stood the Gryffindor House table closest to the wall. He could see the other Weasleys, their hair being like beacons. A sneer formed on his face. Though he had never spoken a word to any Weasley, his Father had told him enough.</p><p><em>Bloodtraitors the lot of them!</em> He thought with disdain.</p><p>Next to the Gryffindor table was Hufflepuff. He didn’t know anyone from that House.</p><p>
  <em>Soft hearted losers. I would rather hug a Dementor than ending up in such a weak House. </em>
</p><p>On his direct left was Ravenclaw. He pondered if he perhaps had the qualities to end up a Ravenclaw where knowledge was most desired.<em> No! I’m a Slytherin just like him!</em> He had to be. He would shame his Father greatly if he ended up anywhere else than Slytherin. His family had been Slytherins for generations. And he was a Pureblood. Anything but Slytherin was unheard of, really.</p><p>“GRYFFINDOR!” the Sorting Hat suddenly shouted which tore Draco from his thoughts. The Gryffindor table cheered for Bird’s Nest, and she looked rather relieved.</p><p>“It took the hat almost four minutes to decide,” he heard someone whisper behind him. Draco rolled his eyes. He just wanted this to be over with, he was rather hungry after all.</p><p>“Malfoy, Draco.” Finally. He stepped forward. Feigning confidence he really didn’t feel.</p><p><em>Slytherin, Slytherin, Slytherin…</em> he kept thinking, like a mantra of sorts. It had to be Slytherin. And all he could feel was the eyes of the Great Hall. He could almost, almost, feel his Fathers breath on his neck, could imagine his observant eyes, cold, calculating eyes which held no warmth to them. No, there were no real warmth in the depth of his Fathers eyes, only when they landed upon his Mother and himself. For anyone else there were only contempt. And right now, Draco could feel the coldness of his Father’s stares upon him.</p><p><em>Slytherin, Slytherin, Slytherin…</em> The Sorting Hat had barely touched his hair when it shouted out his House, and the Sorting Hat had only one thing to say to him:<em> Just like your Father. </em></p><p>“SLYTHERIN!” and cheers from Slytherin table erupted when he stalked towards them, relief flooding his system. And pride. Pride that the Hat had compared him to his Father. His black robes changed to the Slytherin colours, silver and green.</p><p><em>Father will be so proud</em>, he thought taking place at the table. The rest of the sorting ceremony was of no real interest to Draco. Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle ended up in Slytherin as well, while Weasly and Potter joined Bird’s Nest at the Gryffindor table.</p><p>And finally: the feast began.</p><p>***</p><p>Bird’s Nest’s name was Granger. How he already loathed her.</p><p>
  <em>Stupid little Know It All. </em>
</p><p>She sat in front of him in Defence Against the Dark Arts, jumping in her seat to answer Professor Quirrel’s question, her hand in the air, and her barely being able to sit still. Her pathetic excuse of hair was as unruly as ever, defying gravity as it stood in all directions around her head.</p><p>“Yes, Ms. G-Granger?” the stammering idiot said. His hands trembled slightly – they always did. How such a pathetic fool could teach anyone how to defend themselves was beyond Draco’s comprehension. Quirrel wore a dark blue robe, almost the colour of Ravenclaw, and his turban had the same colour. His face was smooth, a fairly young professor. Although Draco had heard rumours that Quirrel had only got the job as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor this year, he had been a professor for quite some time. Teaching Muggle studies. Draco made a face at that.</p><p>“Protego comes from the Latin verb ‘to protect’. It is a spell which is used to guard the caster of the spell from incoming spells by creating a shield. It is the simplest shield charm. However, it does not protect the caster from The Unforgivable Killing Curse.” Her voice had a high pitch which caused Draco to wince. He absolutely hated her voice – too shrill. Draco could feel the collective sigh from the rest of the class. She acted like she was all-knowing, which irritated Draco to no end. As if it was anything special to know these spells.</p><p><em>Probably is, considering she’s a Mudblood</em>. He sneered at her back.</p><p>“C-correct, Ms. G-Granger. Take f-five points to G-Gryffindor.” Draco just rolled his eyes. Like the rest of the class, he noticed. Even her fellow Gryffindors seemed like they loathed her. Casting nasty glares her way, wrinkling their nose when she opened her mouth. She had no friends so far.</p><p><em>Serves her right! Stupid little Know It All</em>.</p><p>***</p><p>“So, Draco, how is school?” his Father asked. The question was rather innocent, but Draco knew better. Draco knew that his Father really asked whether or not Draco was top of his class, whether or not he was a disappointment. Draco took a few seconds to chew his breakfast while thinking on an answer. His thoughts focused on the only one having better grades than him. Granger. In his mind he could see the girl. She was rather short compared to the rest of the first years. Her hair the ever-present haystack of unruly, frizzy, gravity-defying curls. Her hair had the same colour as mud, which was rather fitting Draco mused. <em>Mud coloured hair for a Mudblood</em>. She had profound buck teeth, freckles over her nose – which gave her a dirty look, Draco thought, and rather big eyes with a dull colour.<br/>
Somehow, she had become friends with Weasel and Potter after Halloween.</p><p>
  <em>Stupid, irritating Potter, being on the Quidditch team already. Probably cheated his way on the team. Thinks he is soo special. </em>
</p><p>“I’m second in class,” Draco answered after having swallowed his bite of food. It was his first day home during the Holiday break, and the Malfoy family where enjoying breakfast together. Father had a full English breakfast and Earl Grey tea, while Mother nibbled at some toast and fruits while drinking coffee. “Is that so? Who is first then?” Father asked with a raised eyebrow. Father already sounded disappointed, and Draco felt his heart speed up.</p><p>“A Mudblood.” He forced the admission past his lips, knowing that Father would be furious at him. Bested by a Mudblood, the shame! Draco was a Malfoy after all, and a Black. Two of the greatest Pureblood families in Britain. He was of the most noble blood, part of the Sacred Twenty-eight. And still he was bested by a lousy Mudblood. His Father expected more from him, he knew.</p><p>“Indeed?” Father said, eyebrow raised at Draco. When Draco nodded, Father continued in a drawl. “How… disappointing.” Draco winced and hung his head as he muttered under his breath how much he hated her, the stupid cow, who acted all high and mighty despite her dirty heritage. And not only that, she had taken a preference to HIS favourite table in the library as well. The table in the furthest corner, where the chance at being disturbed was small, by the huge windows overlooking the Black Lake and the schoolgrounds, the table that didn’t tilt.</p><p>
  <em>I loathe her! </em>
</p><p>“She must be highly intelligent, if she has higher grades than you,” Mother said gently, her eyes shone with something unreadable and Draco snorted at that. But could he really deny it? The stupid bint could answer any and all questions thrown at her by the professors, much to Draco’s annoyance. He remained silent and a slight splatch of red coloured his cheeks. Of anger, he told himself though he knew it was of shame. He would not admit the stupid bint was intelligent. He would not! As Draco remained silent his Father broke in.</p><p>“Perhaps. But she has no real value, as you, Draco, are of noble birth,” Father said with ice colouring his tone. “I expect you to do better, as your status demands.”</p><p>Mother gave Father a strange look, one Draco didn’t recognise.</p><p>***</p><p>1992 </p><p>"Nobody asked your opinion, filthy little Mudblood!” Draco sneered, disdain and venom dripping from his voice. It was a beautiful day, not a cloud on the sky and the sun warmed the ground. They had just stopped the Gryffindor Quidditch team from going to the field, as Snape had handed them a scroll. After all, they needed to practice with them acquiring a new seeker. Father had bought brooms for the team when Draco had secured his place as seeker. And Granger’s comment about buying is way onto the team had angered him. He watched as the colour leaved Granger’s face, her lips quivering and her eyes becoming moist. His words had been meant to hurt her, and now he watched with satisfaction how she fought the tears which threatened to spill. A cruel smirk took place on his face. Behind him the rest of his Quidditch team snickered. Marcus Flint clapped him on the back. Weasel reacted immediately by turning a brilliant shade of red, grinding his teeth together, and lips turning into a ferocious sneer. Potter, on the other hand, had a blank face, confusion clearly visible in his green eyes while his black hair stood in every direction imaginable. Potter and Granger could compete against each other for the title of most ridiculous hair, seeing as Granger’s hair looked like it was inhabited by several birds.</p><p>And it got even better when the Weasel tried to hex him and it backfired in his freckled face, blue eyes widening as the hex hit him. The cherry on the top was when Weasel started to vomit up big and slimy slugs. Laughter filled the courtyard which led to the Quidditch field.</p><p><em>Pathetic</em>.</p><p>He watched with satisfaction as the three of them, Granger, Weasel, and Potter, scurried away all the while Weasel coughed up slugs. He laughed hard and long.</p><p><em>This, </em>he decided, <em>will turn out to be a rather perfect day! </em></p><p>***</p><p>1993</p><p>He had said he wished for the next victim to be Granger. He had said so to Crabbe and Goyle. And he had meant it. He still meant it. The little Know It All had deserved as much. She had been petrified the day before, making the rest of the Mudbloods uneasy. Potter and Weasel had a shocked and disbelieving look on their faces, looking impossibly lost without her. He had clapped his hands when he had heard the news, smiling with glee. Finally, he could rightfully shine in their classes!</p><p>He had potions with the rest of the Gryffindors. Snape stood in front of the class, giving out instructions on how to cut the dragon liver.</p><p>“Is anyone intelligent enough to know what will happen if the dragon liver is cut incorrectly?” He drawled, not even bothering to hide his contempt. “Mr. Weasley?”</p><p>The redhead looked startled and then turned bright red. “Uhm…” the idiot stuttered. How could he not know? It was first year material after all. Snape sneered at Weasel. Draco raised his hand, a confident smirk on his face.</p><p>“Yes, Mr. Malfoy?” If Draco didn’t know any better, he would have claimed that Snape sounded relieved. He did know his potions professor and Head of House however and knew that relieve was not an emotion the man knew – he was rather less annoyed.</p><p>“Incorrectly cut dragon liver will turn the potion dark orange instead of red. The Healing Potion will have no effect,” he answered with arrogance.</p><p>“Correct,” drawled Snape, glaring at the Weasel. “Perhaps, Mr. Weasley, it would do you some good if you cared enough to open a book occasionally. Five points from Gryffindor, for being denser than a brick wall,” Snape turning towards Draco continued, “ten points to Slytherin for being competent enough to know how to not screw up a simple Healing Potion.” A final glare was sent at Weasel before Snape turned around and continued the class.</p><p>Somehow, Draco didn’t feel the anticipated level of satisfaction in the correct answer, there was no pouting Granger he could smirk at for beating her to the answer.</p><p>***</p><p>Somehow, over the summer break, something had happened to Granger. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. But something was definitely different. And it irked him that he didn’t know. He told himself that he didn’t care. Why should he? The stupid Mudblood didn’t deserve his attention. She was worthless, he could hear his father sneer in his head. All those Mudbloods didn’t mean a damn thing. Worthless. And especially her. Insufferable Know It All. He would never, not in a million years, admit to anyone how relieved he had been when she once again sat in class, nearly jumping out of her seat in her eagerness to answer. How relieved he had been, when he once again could smirk at her, when he beat her to an answer and her familiar pout took its place on her face. Yes, he quite enjoyed teasing her and driving out a reaction from her. That was the only reason he was relieved. He gave himself extra points if he could make her cry. But Saint Potter and Weasel were always around her.</p><p>All the better. The more the merrier. He truly enjoyed making Weasel’s face match his hair. When he would get so angry that his ability to speak would disappear momentarily. All he had to do to accomplish it was to insult Granger or Weasels family. And now he had something on Potter too. Fainting in the train like some weak woman. Truly pathetic. He was rather consumed by his thoughts as he sat in the Great Hall, eating his breakfast, that he didn’t notice Pansy Parkinson sliding into the seat next to him. When she spoke, she startled him.</p><p>“Draco, it’s a Hogsmeade weekend. We should go together, don’t you think?” she asked with a syrupy sweet smile. He looked at her, taking in her round face with the apple cheeks, upturned nose – which looked rather like a pug, her thin, rosy lips, her dark brown eyes, and her black hair styled in a shoulder length bob. Her skin was like porcelain, white and with not a single imperfection. Making eye contact with her, she batted her eyelashes in what he assumed she thought would be flirty and her lips turned into a smile. He held back a shudder and schooled his expression into polite curiosity. Seeing his expression, she added. “It would be fun!” Just then a wild hair entered the Great Hall. He followed her with his eyes until she sat down at the Gryffindor table. “… it would be perfect! So, what do you say?” Pansy’s shrill voice brought him back to reality and he tore his eyes away from her, seeing a rather expectant look on Pansy’s face.</p><p>“Sorry love, I already have an agreement with Nott and Zabini,” he replied smoothly. Giving her a charming smirk. No need to upset her, she was after all a Pureblood and deserved respect. She pouted with disappointment. He didn’t have the patience for this. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Granger stand up and walk out of the Great Hall. “If you will excuse me,” he muttered as he stood up as well and stalked out of the Great Hall. He saw a flash of unruly curls turning the corner which led to the grand staircase. Sighing without any reason whatsoever he started to walk towards the dungeons and the Slytherin Common Room.</p><p>***</p><p>Lying in his bed with the bandaged arm he thought about the class which the big oaf Hagrid now taught. While he grudgingly admitted the mistake, he had made when he had insulted the hippogriff, it was not the beast which occupied his mind. No, it was a completely different creature which demanded his attention. A creature with an oval face with high cheekbones, full lips, slightly upturned nose with a light dusting of freckles, big caramel coloured doe-eyes, which had golden flecks in them when the sun hit them just right, said doe eyes surrounded by long, dark lashes. And her hair, finally he figured the difference out, the frizz was gone, making her curls look softer, although it was still unruly and wild. Her skin, he mused, was honey coloured. Like she was sunkissed all year. Clad only in her skirt dress and the button-up white shirt, he could see she had filled out a bit, a hint of curves.</p><p>She looked rather nice.</p><p><em>What the bloody Hell is wrong with me?</em> Shocked by his own thoughts he got angry at himself. Thinking the Mudblood looking nice. As if! He would never lower himself, defile him and his blood by thinking a Mudblood looked nice.</p><p>
  <em>Disgusting.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>***</em>
</p><p>1994</p><p>“You foul, evil little cockroach!” Granger roared wand pointed at Draco’s throat. He felt her magic swirl around her, whipping at him angrily. He tried not flinch at her magics nature – wild and ferocious at it was, cracking angrily in the air. Her chocolate coloured hair flowed around her due to the barely controlled magic radiating from her, making her look wild and ferocious. And her eyes. Her caramel doe eyes ablaze with a fire he had never seen before. The golden flecks in them sparkling madly. She was a force of nature. He couldn’t tear his eyes from her, glorious as she was right now in her anger and indignation.</p><p>“Hermione, no!” Weasel screeched behind her, but he still couldn’t remove his eyes from her face. “He’s not worth it.” Granger slowly removed her wand from Draco’s throat. Trying to save face Draco snickered at her, offering a confident smirk and Crabbe and Goyle, the two buffoons, laughed at her when she turned her back on them. Her back straightened and quicker than Draco thought possible she turned and smacked him in the face.</p><p>“Uff!” He groaned. The force of the blow had shocked him, and his head smacked against the rock behind him making a sickening thump. The pain was sharp and instant. He stared at her in disbelief for about two seconds – watching the fire in her eyes and the satisfied smirk on her lips – before taking of, Crabbe and Goyle following him. <em>That bitch</em>! He thought angrily. <em>How dare she?</em> “Not a word to anybody!” Draco snapped at the two idiots following him, who only acknowledged him with agreeing grunts, already out of breath despite the short distance they had run. His face started to heat up and a throbbing pain started from the blow of the punch. He could almost feel the bruise beginning to bloom on his cheek and under his eye. Touching his nose, he felt the wet against his fingers. He hadn’t felt the blood dripping from the split skin until he saw the blood on his fingers. He watched the blood feeling a strange form of distance, as if it wasn’t his blood. <em>How strange.</em></p><p>Back in his dorm, laying on his bed he replayed the situation. His face stung were she had hit him. Lifting a hand, he tentatively touched the spot that stung, and he winced, feeling the warmth under his fingers. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to be furious at her, wanted to let his magic leave him and rip at her. He should be angry. She had hit him for Merlin’s sake!</p><p>But he wasn’t. Not really.</p><p>All Draco could really think about was how absolutely glorious she had looked, wild chocolate curls surrounding and framing her face, with the wildfire in her eyes which had rendered him immobile. He decided that he wanted to see that light, that fire, in her eyes again. <em>Glorious</em>, he thought before sighing deeply. Moments before sleep took him, he could only think a single thought which he wouldn’t remember thinking the next day. <em>Beautiful.</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>As my username implies I'm Danish. English is my second language - mistakes are bound to happen as I do not have a beta. Let me know if you find a mistake, I'll fix it ASAP :)</p><p>I would love your feedback! Both the parts you (hopefully) like and the parts you hate.</p><p>Thank you for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Beginning part II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So here is the next chapter. The flashbacks will continue for a few more chapters – and all from Draco’s POV. I must confess I rather enjoy writing his POV, but Hermione will make her entrance eventually – I promise.<br/>Hope you enjoy.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Draco</strong>
</p><p>1994</p><p>He often dreamt of a creature with wild curls. A creature with striking eyes, a fire ablaze in them. A creature who crackled with unrestrained magic, long tendrils of magic whipping around and slashing at its surroundings. The creature never said a word, never made a sound. It was hard and unrelenting, never showing mercy even when he begged and pleaded. No, the creature was wild, a force of nature and as ferocious as a thunderstorm.</p><p>A couple of weeks before school had ended Draco had heard a persistent rumour which claimed that Potter was able to conjure a Patronus. How the bloody Hell was that imbecile able to create such advanced magic? It had irritated Draco to no end. <em>I’ll show him. There is no way I’ll let lousy Potter be able to do magic I’m not able to do! </em>He would learn the spell; he would perfect it! Just because he could. The first day he had searched the library for every information available to him about the Patronus charm. When he felt properly prepared on the theoretical part, he began to search for a place to practise, preferably away from prying eyes. It had taken him some time before remembering how the astronomy tower was hardly ever used. It was perfect. Secluded and private. But he didn’t have a lot of time, only a few hours each day. He had his exams to prepare for after all. And he needed to do well.</p><p>He stood at the astronomy tower. The view was breathtaking. He could see the Black Lake and the mountains which surrounded and framed Hogwarts castle. So far, he hadn’t been able to conjure a Patronus. Frustrated he sank to the floor, leaning heavily against a pillar and wiping his brow. <em>To be able to perform the Patronus charm I must use a happy memory. </em>So far, none of the memories he had chosen had been successful. He had varied between memories from school: talking to his friends in the Slytherin Common Room, catching the snitch for the first time, receiving a high mark, besting Granger by being picked by the professor. When they hadn’t worked he had tried something else. Riding a broom for the first time, chasing after the white peacocks back at the manor, getting his wand: the feeling of magic rushing through him, the hawthorn wood almost humming in his hands. But to no avail. He was reluctant to admit, that he might be in over his head, teaching himself advanced magic with no one to tutor him and give him direction. It had been more difficult than he had imagined – sure, he had expected it to be challenging, but at the moment it felt impossible. Sighing he stood up. <em>To give up is not an option! </em>Taking a deep breath he stood once more and closed his eyes. The memories he had tried had been happy. <em>But perhaps it is not enough to be just happy. Perhaps they need more… power.</em> Digging deep in his memories he found one deeply hidden in an old box in his mind. The memory was like an old photograph, but the longer he stared at it the clearer the memory became.</p><p>
  <em>He was three or four years old. It was Christmas and the snow fell in big fat flakes around him. Father walked on his left and Mother on his right, clutching their hands as they strolled the Manor grounds. The gravel was slippery, and Draco walked carefully, on foot in front of the other, furrowing his brow in concentration. Coming to a holt to give Draco a break and make him able to catch his breath again. Draco looked up at his Father. “Again! Do the magic again!” he pleaded. And it was a rare moment where Lucius Malfoy offered someone a genuine smile, one that reached his eyes. His Father raised his wand, twirled it in the air and the snow on the ground rose and transformed into fantastic creatures; dragons, manticores, pixies. And Draco was delighted. The air filled with childish laughter and his parent laughed along with him.</em>
</p><p>Holding on to the memory, Draco raised his wand, opened his eyes. “Expecto Patronum!” White silver slipped from his wand, and Draco held on to the memory of his childhood. The silver fog became thicker, forming a shield which he held for several seconds, and– as Draco continued to <em>hold on to the memory, </em>clawing at it to keep it at the forefront of his mind – the shield morphed into an animal.</p><p>Proud and silver, the peacock rose the tail feathers and looked at him with silver beads eyes.</p><p>And Draco smiled.</p><p>***</p><p>The Quidditch World Cup had been a success. The Irish having won was what he had hoped for – and anticipated as the Bulgarians wasn’t a match to them. And the icing on the cake was the knowledge that both Saint Potter and Weaselbee had cheered for the Bulgarians. The thought alone made Draco smile satisfied.</p><p>Suddenly tumult outside the luxurious tent with which he shared with his parents could be heard. His Father was not in the tent, visiting some colleague or other from the Ministry. Mother, seated in a plush leather armchair situated in the corner of the tent, looked up from her book. Her eyes alert and her eyebrows was drawn in a frown as she listened to the noises. Suddenly a scream, high pitched and full of terror, permeated the air making chills run down Draco’s spine and goosebumps erupted on his skin, making the hair stand on end. He shuddered involuntarily. Soon other screams followed the first and explosions could be heard in the distance.</p><p><em>What’s happening? </em>Draco thought with rising terror. He locked eyes with Mother, who now stood beside the chair, the book completely forgotten. She swiftly took hold of his hand and started yanking him forward and out of the tent and into the fray. The noise was overwhelming. People ran past him, screaming and clawing at the ones they held dear, afraid to lose hold of them. The explosions were much louder outside, and they felt rather deafening. The sight was disorienting, people running around confused and scared. The night smelled like moist earth, fire and burning tents and something else which Draco couldn’t identify, having never encountered this particular smell before. And he wished he never would again, as he didn’t like this particular smell, there was something... wrong about it. Like the air in a stale room, but with a sickening sweetness alongside it. Mother yanked him forward, never giving Draco time to probably orientate himself.</p><p>“What’s happening, Mother?” He found his voice to be too shrill, too high pitched to be natural.</p><p>“We need to leave. Now. It’s not safe,” she answered erringly calm. He followed her dutifully, ducking his head where the strings which held tents up where too low to allow him passage. In the distance to his left, he could see several figures clad in all black robes, a bone-white mask, and a black hat walking calmly towards the fleeing witches and wizards, setting fire to several tents as they approached the terrified mass. Draco saw as the black clad wizards walking past a witch – he knew was Pureblood – who hided rather poorly behind a tent, not even turning their heads in her direction, only looking at a trembling wizard who was rooted to the spot in his fear.</p><p>As Draco looked at the scene his senses seemed amplified, hearing everything and nothing at all, as he focused on the scene.</p><p>“P-please, don’t hurt m-me,” the man begged, fear and tears strangling his voice and making him stutter.</p><p>“Filthy Mudblood!” one of the black-clad wizards spat, disdain and disgust dripping from his voice, as another wizard raised his wand and pointed it at the trembling man.</p><p>“Don’t look at it, Draco,” Mother said, making Draco focus on her back, on her silver hair which flowed down her back. And the second he looked away, distracted by the scene to his left – now slightly behind him – he heard a soft thump, a body hitting the ground and agonizing screams filled the air, clawing at Draco’s sanity. He had never heard such a horrifying sound, the agony, the pain, and the utter helplessness made Draco’s skin crawl and something vile and cold slither down his spine. And at that moment, as the body had hit the ground and the screaming began, it struck him.</p><p><em>They are targeting Muggles. Bloody good thing I’m not a Muggle then. </em>His relief at being out of the danger disappeared as quickly as the relief had come. <em>She is here! </em>And the thought of her lying in the grass, with matted unseeing eyes, made cold claws of terror claw at his insides, his throat constricted, and he struggled to breathe. The mere thought of never seeing the wildfire in her eyes made his heart stop for a second. <em>I have yet to see the wildfire again. </em>He stopped dead in his tracks, surprising his Mother. Without thinking Draco yanked his hand free of hers.</p><p>“Draco?” she sounded confused, but right now Draco didn’t care. He had to find her. Turning on his heels he started running the other way, towards the fleeing mass of people. “Draco!” he could hear her shocked yell, and then she pleaded for him to come back to her, but he didn’t hear. He didn’t <em>care</em>.</p><p>He frantically searched for her, looking for her unruly and wild hair. Blood rushed in his ears blocking out all other sounds. And all the while he couldn’t stop thinking: <em>what am I doing? What am I doing? What am I doing? </em></p><p>He was astounded by his actions and furthermore by the fear he felt in the pit of his stomach. <em>Why am I feeling this? I shouldn’t be afraid. I have nothing to be afraid of. What is wrong with me?<br/></em>Shaking his head, he once again focused on the search. As he passed several tents and people without seeing her, he became more and more desperate. Several witches and wizards hung in the air, dusted around the campsite. To his right was the woods, and he thought he saw a flash of red among the trees running the wrong way, towards the Death Eaters. <em>Dammit! </em></p><p>“Granger, they’re after Muggles. Do you want to be showing off your knickers in midair? Because if you do, hang around,” Draco drawled, hoping he sounded bored, “they’re moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh.” He smirked at her cruelly, trying to hide his relief, and praying they would heed his warning.</p><p>Potter visibly bristled at Draco’s words. “Hermione is a witch,” he said in a tone which could only be described as angry.</p><p>“Have it your way, Potter. If you think they can’t spot a Mudblood, stay where you are.” Red splotches appeared on Potter’s cheeks, his lips a thin line and his green eyes shooting daggers at Draco. <em>If looks could kill… </em>Weasel actually looked like he might attack Draco: clenching and unclenching his hands, grinding his teeth together, his whole face red from bare contained anger. Granger, on the other hand, had paled visibly, her sunkissed skin had taken an ashen hue which looked rather unhealthy. The tension in the air was so thick, Draco felt like he could touch it. <em>Please, just leave! You’re wasting precious time! </em>He wanted to scream at them. Schooling his face into a blank slate he just continued to watch them, lifting an eyebrow arrogantly. It was she who broke the silence.</p><p>“Come,” she said meekly, tugging at both Potter and Weaselbee, trying to get their attention. “We need to go!” she managed with more force and a commanding streak to her voice. Both Potter and Weasley snapped out of it and turned on their heels with Granger, and the trio ran in the direction from which they came from – away from the Death Eaters. As soon as they ran away from Draco, relief flooded his system and he sagged against a nearby tree. He didn’t quite understand the feelings he experienced tonight.</p><p><em>Why did I try to find her? She’s Muggle-born for Merlin’s sake. She shouldn’t matter. And she DOESN’T matter. </em>He tried to reason with himself. He might not like her, but Draco wasn’t heartless. He didn’t want her dead either and he had the power of saving her tonight. And so he had. Because Draco wasn’t heartless. He would admit he had found her fascinating with the fire in her eyes and the magic crackling around her, making her a fearsome sight to behold. But he most definitely did <em>not</em> like her.</p><p>He turned around and started to find his way back to the place where he had left Mother. And then the night was illuminated yet again, not by fire and explosions, but by an eerie dark green light, and the sky came alive as clouds writhed and transformed themselves into the Dark Mark and everything fell silent.</p><p>***</p><p><em>Stupid Potter! Getting to be a Triwizard-Champion! </em>Draco thought angrily. <em>Well not MY champion. Rather having a soft hearted Hufflepuff as champion than Saint Potter a stupid Gryffindor. </em>And therefore, he had developed the badges which supported Diggory and insulted the brainless idiot whenever he was in close proximity of a badge.</p><p>Draco stood in the dungeons at the potion’s classroom alongside the other Slytherin. This particular class was shared with Gryffindor and some of them were already present. Weasel leaned up against the wall with Finnigan and Thomas. Draco had noticed the distance between Potter and Weasel. Just then Potter walked down the corridor with Granger at his side.</p><p>“Do you like them, Potter?” Draco sneered as he showed his badge. “Oh wait, they can do more – watch,” he said, just as the badge turned a new colour and the writing changed. Pansy Parkinson laughed loudly, and it sounded forced.</p><p>“Very funny,” Granger said sarcastically shooting the Slytherin girls a nasty glare, her eyes narrowed into slits.</p><p>“Do you want one, Granger?” he could have slapped himself for the eager tone in his voice. He sounded like a hopeful child about to receive sweets. Trying to save the situation and his reputation he continued in a menacing drawl: “I got loads of them. Just be careful not to touch my hand – I just washed them and don’t want Mudblood on them.” Potter’s reaction was immediate. He took a sharp breath and raised his wand at Draco. Several of the Slytherin girls ran for cover.</p><p>“Harry!” Grangers voice was a warning.</p><p>“Bring it!” Draco hissed. “Mad-Eye’s not here to protect you. Do it – if you dare…” Draco looked into Potters eyes for a few short seconds. He could see the anger in Potter’s eyes.</p><p>“Furnunculus!” Potter shrieked.</p><p>“Densaugeo!” Draco roared.</p><p>Light from both wands shot at each other and hit the other spell, making both spells ricochet around the corridor. Potter’s jinx hit Goyle square in the face making the boy cry out, while Draco’s spell hit Granger on the mouth. He winced ever so slightly.</p><p>“Hermione!” Weasley called and ran to her. Granger tried desperately to cover her mouth with her hands. Goyle on the other hand looked like he was becoming one big pimple: his whole was covered in red and yellow boils, making him look less attracting than he already was.</p><p>“What’s going on here?” a silky drawl asked. Professor Snape looked around him expectantly.</p><p>“Potter attacked me, Professor… ” Draco said innocently. He’ll be damned if he was blamed for this.</p><p>“We attacked each other at the same time!” Potter yelled indignation filling his voice.</p><p>“… and he hit Goyle – look.” Snape looked at Goyle and sending him to the hospital wing to see Madam Pompfrey. Weasel, angry as he was, pointed out that Granger too had been hit with a jinx, trying to remove her hands so that Snape could see. Granger tried valiantly to hide her teeth, but it was rather impossible as they had grown to a size where they now covered her chest.</p><p>Snape crocked an eyebrow. “I see no difference,” he answered in a cruel tone. The Slytherins laughed loudly as Granger ran away with tears in her eyes, and although Draco faked a laugh alongside them, he cringed on the inside, feeling quite ashamed. Both from the jinx but also for the slur he had used, for in Granger’s pretty doe-eyes he could see her hurt feelings.</p><p>And he refused to consider why he felt ashamed. He refused. Because Draco did <em>not </em>like her.</p><p>***</p><p>The library was empty. It being an early Saturday morning was a natural explanation for this, as many students preferred to sleep in and avoid the library like the plague – especially on the weekends. Draco enjoyed having the library all to himself and so he found a book before making himself comfortable at his favourite table in the corner facing the windows which gave a perfect lighting to read in and had an overview of the Lake. Sometimes he could glimpse a tentacle from the giant squid breaking the water surface. He had barely read for half an hour before he could he soft behind ham and a muffled groan. Draco didn’t need to look to know that Granger had arrived. Smirking at his book he continued to read. He heard a stool scrape against the floor and a loud bang, as the book was dropped on the table.</p><p>This was not an unusual scene. Ever since they had discovered they had the same spot as their preferred reading spot, they had made their own arrival to the scene known, if they had not gotten the favoured spot. By being as loud as possible and thus disturbing the other person as much as possible. It was a game really. A game Draco had started in their first year. For several months he had had the spot in the library all by himself. Just before Christmas he had arrived at the library and expected to find his spot abandoned – as per usual. He was in for a rather nasty surprise when he discovered his spot occupied by the Know It All, who had her nose buried in books and scribbling furiously away at a piece of parchment, chewing away at her lower lip. Draco had been in a foul mood and decided then and there to be as annoying as humanly possible, going out of his way to be noisy while thinking how foul and filthy she was. A favour she had most kindly returned a couple of days later. And thus, their little game began.<br/>She sighed loudly behind him and Draco heard the book being opened. He minded his own business and read his own book in silence.</p><p><em>She’s looking at me.</em> He could feel her glares. He could feel the tiny daggers she was shooting at his back. He turned around abruptly and caught her venomous glare.</p><p>“Enjoying the view, Granger? I know I’m attractive but Merlin, keep it down,” Draco tried to sound confident, arrogant even, sending her a smirk. He didn’t want to admit that her glare had unnerved him. Especially since he hadn’t done or said anything to her. <em>Perhaps she is still mad about the incident with the Densaugeo-episode? </em>The thought made him a bit uncomfortable.</p><p>“As if!” <em>There is something different about her.</em> He couldn’t pinpoint it – it felt like déjà vu, like her hair the year before. A little bit different. Not a huge difference like getting a new haircut or something like that. No. it was something small, something subtle one wouldn’t recognise unless they looked closely.</p><p>“Then stop staring at me.”</p><p>“You know, not everything is about <em>you</em>.”</p><p>“What do you <em>mean </em>‘not everything is about me’? Didn’t you know I’m the centre of the universe?” he mocked.</p><p>“Yes, sorry, Mummy and Daddy serving everything on a silver plate for you. Of course, you would believe the sun arises, just for you,” she snapped with every word dripping with sarcasm.</p><p>“Finally, the Brightest Witch of Our Age gets it,” he smirked at her. Went so far at to wink at her.</p><p>“Sod off, Malfoy,” she replied grumpily. Her gaze left him and wandered down to the book, and he observed her for a few seconds – she was reading a rather heavy tome with an unknown subject, her hair in an updo on top of her head a few curls escaping the messy bun. She wore casual clothes, Muggle clothes Draco assumed, a pink hoodie and jeans – before turning around continuing to read in his own book her lower lip caught between her teeth. He rather liked their verbal sparring and this game of theirs.</p><p><em>Her teeth. Her teeth are smaller. </em>Such a small difference, such an insignificant change. One barely even seen. But he had seen it, had noticed it, nonetheless.</p><p>He sat in the library that whole Saturday, smirking at his book as Granger sat behind him until dinner.</p><p>***</p><p>He had decided to invite Pansy to the Yule Ball. He didn’t much care for this nonsense. Dressed in his best dressrobes he waited for Pansy. Mother had sent him the robes along with a note stating how handsome he would be in these robes. He had only rolled his eyes when he had read it. The robes were spectacular he had to admit. Tailormade in excellent quality. Black fabric with discreet silver details along the sleeves and hem of the robe. With the dressrobes his Mother had sent a ring. A simple silver ring with an emerald green disc whit a silver embroidered M. He had seen the ring before. His Father had always worn it, and his father before him had worn it, and his father before him and so on. It was a family heirloom. He had felt pride in being trusted enough to have been giving this precious piece of jewellery. The only piece of jewellery – besides a wedding ring – he would ever wear. He had slipped it on his thumb and there it had remained.<br/>He stifled a yawn and fidgeted his ring, turning it around his thumb the weight of it was still new to him. The Slytherin Common Room was filled with exciting voices. Somehow, Draco couldn’t be quite as excited as them. He had been in a foul mood for several days leading up to the ball. He had snarled for no reason when anyone had dared asking him a question. And he didn’t know why. Nott had been taken aback when he had asked Draco, who he would bring as his date, and Draco had snarled viciously that it was none of his bloody business!</p><p>Fine, he hadn’t decided to bring Pansy per say, she was the only girl in Slytherin left without a date. And Draco would be damned if he brought a non-Slytherin date to the Yule Ball. It simply would not due. Finally Pansy arrived. She wore a black dress which clung to her body. It was a floor length one shoulder dress made in silk. Her hair, which was long and down to her midback, was styled in a high, sleek ponytail and not a single hair was out of place. Her eye makeup was rather simple while her thin lips were painted a bold red and a shy blush on her cheeks. She wore heavy gold earrings and a family heirloom on her indexfinger.</p><p>“Draco,” she purred and smiled sweetly. He forced a smile on his own. “You look handsome,” she complemented her eyes raked over him.</p><p>“Pansy, you look magnificent,” he replied smoothly, trying to charm her (he was a gentleman after all) and offered her his arm. She took it eagerly, her eyes shining with something akin to greed. Draco cringed inwardly. <em>Probably after the Malfoy fortune,</em> he thought with disdain but keeping it from showing on his face. “Shall we?” He didn’t wait for her answer and started the walk towards the Great Hall giving Pansy no other choice than to follow him unless she wanted to be left alone.</p><p>At the entrance to the Great Hall many students stood waiting for their date. Draco saw Nott, Zabini and Goyle standing near the staircase with their dates, and so he walked towards them, greeting them as thet drew nearer. He only listened with half an ear to the conversation around him – the conversation being on the Yule Ball and he most definitely didn’t want to engage in meaningless talk about dress robes, shoes, makeup, and whatnot, no thank you. Instead his thoughts turned towards the Quidditch World Cup. When he had finally found his Mother again, she had been angry at him. Unable to explain himself he received quite an earful from her. And Narcissa Malfoy was terrifying when angered. But Draco knew her anger had been born from fear and helplessness, and so he endured her scolding. When Father had found them, he had swiftly kissed Mother on the cheek, clasping a firm hand on Draco’s shoulder and gazed upon the sky.</p><p>“Things are about to change,” he had said. And something about that sentence had made cold shivers run down his spine. Draco wasn’t sure whether or not he wanted this change.</p><p>A loud gasp yanked Draco from his memories. He looked on his Housemates, who all had a rather dumfounded expression on their faces and felt confused. Following their gazes Draco saw a stranger, a girl he had never seen before, walk dawn the staircase. <em>Why does everyone look like they have seen a ghost? She’s probably a student from </em><em>Beauxbatons.</em></p><p>“Is that… is that Hermione Granger?” a disbelieving voice rang behind him. Draco found himself dumbstruck. Looking at the girl descending the stairs it was clear to him. It was Granger. The dress – Merlin that dress! – hugged her chest in a sweetheart neckline and clung to her waist before the chiffon flowed down freely giving the dress a light and airy look. Two thin straps held the dress up. The color, periwinkle Draco thought, made her sunkissed skin glow. Her usually wild hair had been tamed – probably used Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion – and styled in an elegant knot at the back of her head. Her eyes twinkled and danced with excitement and her lips stretched into a shy, but happy, smile. It didn’t look like she wore any makeup. She waved at someone, but Draco didn’t see who it was. He could not tear his eyes from her. And then he saw who her date was. He bowed deeply taking her hand and placed a gentle kiss on it. Victor Krum looked extraordinary smug – like he had just caught the Snitch and won the World Cup – as he led Granger into the Great Hall. Out of view he came to his senses and quickly checked if anyone had noticed him staring at Granger. But he shouldn’t have worried, everybody had stared. Some with admiration, some with jealousy and some with barely hidden disdain. Pansy was of the latter.</p><p>“What a slut!” she hissed. “Gryffindor Golden Girl thinks she is that much better than us, just because Krum is her date? I think not.” Draco fought hard not to roll his eyes. It was obvious that she was jealous of Granger.</p><p>“It doesn’t matter,” he replied smoothly. “Shall we?” Ever the gentleman he offered his arm to Pansy. The Great Hall was filled with students who mingled with each other. Draco procured a drink for Pansy and himself and gazed upon the crowd. The Great Hall had been decorated in soft blues and white. Enchanted snow fell from the ceiling, but the room was neither could nor covered in snow – the snowflakes disappeared millimetres from contact with a person. Soon the opening dance began, and he saw flashes of blue and tamed chocolate coloured hair. When the rest of the crowd joined the Champions, Draco brought Pansy to the dancefloor. The opening dance dragged on, and he saw flashes of blue out the corner of his eyes twirling into a red mass.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t feel like dancing, he would much rather observe.</p><p> </p><p>He only danced one other dance with Pansy, as she stubbornly clung to his side, pouting the whole time and whining about how unfair it was that they didn’t dance when everyone else was. He was annoyed but danced with her, nonetheless. Just to shut her up.</p><p> </p><p>Flashes of blue at the centre of the dancefloor and sunkissed skin.</p><p> </p><p>As soon as possible he ditched Pansy, leaving her with her friends. He spent his time stalking the room, creeping along the walls, and seeing flashes of blue and a brilliant smile.</p><p>An unknown emotion rolled around his stomach. He was angry but at the same time sad. And he saw flashes of blue and caramel eyes with gold flecks sparkling in the torchlight. He stood by some students from Dumstrang, only half listening to their conversation about pretty French girls.</p><p>And there were flashes of blue and the sound of a clear and pretty laughter.</p><p>The musicians prepared for another dance, giving the warning signal to the room and thus indicating which dance would be next. Draco knew this dance. Snarling at a Ravenclaw to get lost, Draco claimed his place in the row of dancers, two positions from Granger and Krum. The dance began and the pairs twirled around. His partner, whom he didn’t know, gave him a confused look but Draco ignored it. He was not interested in her. He didn’t even have to concentrate on the steps – his many dancing classes having drilled the steps into his brain in such a way, that should he be awoken in the middle of the night and be demanded to dance, he could do so effortless. And he knew it would come to this. The exchange of partners. She twirled from Krum and faced Draco. Her eyes widened slightly and her back went ramrod straight. He bowed for her and half a second later she curtsied. He caught her eyes and held them. And their short steps together began. Lifting his hand, he let his palm face her, and she did the same. Just as their hands were about to touch, she stopped the movement, letting her hand hover from his by mere millimetres. He could feel the heat radiating from her. Their two circles around each other started and he caught a whiff of her. Roses and summer rain. For a moment the world seemed to slow down. During their first turn her teeth caught her bottom lip, her eyes never straying from his. He forgot the world, feeling like they were in a bubble. He forgot that he was supposed to loathe her. Had he loathed her? How could he ever have loathed her? All there was left in this world was Granger; her pretty golden eyes framed by long, dark lashes, her full, pink lips, and her glowing, sunkissed skin, the freckles that lightly dusted her shoulders. He wanted to say something but didn’t know what to say. What could he say to her? She looked divine with a slight blush on her cheeks. A few curls had escaped her elegant updo and framed her face gently.<br/>And then the moment was over and the bubble burst as they completed their second turn and she twirled into Krum’s waiting arms.<br/>He left dance floor after that – he didn’t care that his partner would be left alone on the dancefloor. Draco’s head was spinning, and he needed to sit down, for the flashes of blue kept flashing. But sitting down didn’t help. He felt dizzy. Flashes of blue and her pink lips. He needed to get out of here. He muttered an apology to Pansy, feigning tiredness and left the Great Hall and the flashes of blue and clean smell of roses and summer rain.</p><p>That night he took himself in hand for the first time. Closing his eyes, he envisioned Granger in her blue dress, twirling around the Great Hall – a laugh on her lips and in her pretty caramel eyes. He fantasized about the way her golden skin would feel under his hands. He fantasized about the feel of her pink, full lips, how they would feel under his own and which sounds she would make under him. And he could smell her scent, the scent of roses and summer rain. Something clean. When pleasure came it was almost blinding. And while his breath was ragged and his heart hammered away at an impossible speed, he could still hear her laughter and still smell her scent, and Draco realised something. He desired her.</p><p>And there were flashes of blue and a pretty face with a shy blush, a radiating smile and golden eyes which drew him in. And above all, there was a sharp, brilliant mind hungry for knowledge, a skilled witch who could compete against and surpass his own intellect and abilities – an equal. And flashes of blue and chocolate hair.</p><p>
  <em>Merlin help me, I love her.</em>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Beginning part III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I struggled quite a bit with this chapter – hopefully it won’t show that clearly. Dialogue is a b… and I find it extremely hard to write, as I want it to be as flowing and natural as possible – I hope I have achieved it at some level.</p><p>Thank you all for your kind words and kudos! I appreciate each and every one of them &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Draco</strong>
</p><p>Being home for the holidays were not as enjoyable as usual. Having admitted his feelings for Granger had made nothing easier. On the contrary. Draco knew his Father and he knew that the proud Lucius Malfoy would never approve of Granger, a Muggle-born. He needed only be reminded of his Aunt Andromeda. Shunned by her family for falling in love with a Muggle-born wizard. She was very rarely mentioned. Father spoke of her only with great shame and loathing in his voice. How she had defiled herself to be with something lower than her. Not someone. No, something. Ted Tonks was not a human in Father’s eyes, he was dirt and held no value. And it made it all the worse. Mother spoke of Andromeda with sadness. As a young boy Draco had misunderstood the sadness for being shame. Shame that his Mother’s own sister had degraded herself, had become a Bloodtraitor. Now though, now Draco knew the sadness was because she missed Andromeda, she and Andromeda had been close in their childhood and youth. Mother had told Draco about Andromeda, about how she would defy their parents and chase after her own dreams. It wasn’t proper for a noble lady to play Quidditch? Then you could be rest assured that Andromeda had joined the Quidditch team as soon as possible. Andromeda was a rebel, and Mother had loved her dearly.</p><p>“We cannot associate with a Bloodtraitor and a Mudblood and that Halfblood creature they bred. I refuse to open my house for those kinds of people,” Father had said with finality and contempt had dripped from every word when Mother had asked if they could invite the Tonks’ over for tea. “It is beneath us.”<br/>Though Draco might not share this point of view with his Father, he still shuddered at the thought of disappointing him. Being a disappointment to his parents were a very real fear, one he tried to avoid at all costs.</p><p>Although he had ridiculed the class at the time he now knew better. Remus Lupin had stood in front of the class at the beginning of their third year, a shaking closet behind him. Lupin had worn the brown patched up robes – Draco could see the man was piss poor (even more so than the Weasleys, which was rather impressive all things considered), but couldn’t figure out why that was – the scars littering his face, sad brown eyes had observed the class, his hair had looked lifeless, no shine in it, like the man had given up hope. He had asked if anyone would guess what was in the shaking closet, and, of course, the Know It All had answered with confidence. He had just rolled his eyes at her; she was as annoying as always. Lupin had then taught them the charm used to chase away a Boggart. Ridikulus. And Draco had mocked him, saying the class was ridiculous. He had meant it. How could a Boggart ever be a real threat? Pathetic Longbottom had been first man up: the clown had been afraid of Professor Snape, the class had ridiculed him (honestly, Professor Snape? How pathetic was that?), Snape had stepped out of the closet with his black robes, long, greasy hair, pale lips pulled back in a sneer which revealed his uneven yellow teeth, and his black eyes glaring menacingly at Longbottom who now quivered with fear. With a shaking hand Longbottom had raised his wand and stammered through the incantation; and Snape’s black robes transformed into the ugliest women’s clothes Draco had ever seen: a green, lace trimmed dress, a red handbag, and a hat with a vulture on top of it – Draco couldn’t contain the laughter, and it was a real laughter which bobbled it’s way out of him making his shoulders shake. He had got in line. But he never got to see his own Boggart. The Scarface had cut the class short when the Boggart had transformed into a Dementor making the classroom cold and the previous mirth disappeared like frost in the summer sun. Draco had been disappointed, he really wanted to see his Boggart. And so, in the evening, he had asked Lupin if he could see, and Lupin had reluctantly complied. Standing in front of the shaking closet, Draco had lifted his wand and the closet’s door had creaked open. A figure had glided out: it had black robes, long, silver hair, long, pale face with aristocratic features; high cheekbones, strong jaw, pleasant looking lips, and grey eyes, framed by long eyelashes. Lucius Malfoy stood in front of Draco with a sneer on his face, disappointment etched into his face and radiating out of his eyes. And Father said the words; he was disappointed in Draco, only second in class, never good enough, couldn’t even catch the snitch letting Potter win. The voice had only been a whisper, but it made Draco shudder, nonetheless. Contempt was dripping from each and every word. Draco’s throat had gone dry. He had tried so hard to be good enough, to make Father proud and it was all for nought. Lupin had whispered that it wasn’t real, that Draco could make it disappear. And he had, muttering the incantation Lucius Malfoy had been reduced to a circus clown. He had thanked Lupin before fleeing the room and his Father’s disappointment.</p><p>Now Draco observed his parents. Mother was – as always – immaculate, not a single blond hair was out of place. She sat in her favorite armchair by the windows overlooking the gardens. The book in her hand momentarily forgotten as she gazed out the window, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. Father, on the other hand, sat by the fireplace with a glass of firewhiskey in one hand and The Prophet in his lap.</p><p><em>If I chase after Granger, would they shun me? </em>The thought came unbidden<em>. </em><em>Father would. He would never say my name again.</em></p><p>“Draco, darling, how is school? Perhaps a special witch has caught your attention?” his Mother’s clear voice rang out, ripping Draco out of his thoughts.</p><p>He wanted to tell them. To tell them he had fallen in love with a bright witch with pretty eyes and a generous heart. He wanted to tell them about her quirks: how she gave a little jump in her seat when she wanted to answer a question, how she would chew her bottom lip when she was nervous or concentrated, how he would tug at her hair when Potter and Weasley did something stupid (which happened more often than not), and how she still covered her mouth when she laughed, trying to hide her, now, normal sized teeth. He wanted to tell them how she preferred to read a book than talking to other people. He wanted to tell them how her eyes could turn into wildfire and how her laugh could soothe even a dying man. Flashes of blue and the clean smell of her scent. He wanted to confide in them. Wanted them to share his happiness and worries (<em>she despises me, how do I fix it?</em>) but knew, that he couldn’t. Because she’s Muggle-born. He bore a blank face when he answered her.</p><p>“School is fine. Not much have changed. I’m still second in class.”</p><p>“Is – what is her name again? – Granger still on top?”</p><p>“Yes.” Here his Father sneered, still not satisfied that a Muggle-born bested his son but chose to remain silent which Draco was thankful for. He didn’t have the patience nor the desire to hear his Father preaching hate and prejudice and how Draco ought to do better due to his heritage. He didn’t want to see the shame and disappointment in Father’s eyes. No, Draco preferred his silence. Anything but the venom laced words uttered in disappointment.</p><p>“I see. You avoided my other question. Draco, you can tell us if there is a girl whom you like,” she said with hope shining out her eyes and a smile playing on her lips.</p><p>“No, Mother. There isn’t any special witch.” She pouted slightly at this, and Draco hated lying.</p><p>But what could he do? He had to keep her a secret. Nobody could ever know. Like she was something dirty best hidden away, not spoken of. And he felt dirty for it.</p><p>***</p><p>1995</p><p><em>Damn, it’s too cold out here,</em> Draco thought as he stood on the platform in the middle of the Black Lake. He sighed and performed a quick warming charm. Instantly he felt better. Looking around he noticed how the majority of the students present (which was all of them) forgot about their magic, as they shivered in the cold and huddled closer together.</p><p><em>Granger wouldn’t forget her magic, </em>he thought and rolled his eyes as Crabbe and Goyle tried to warm themselves with friction, hands rubbing their arms. <em>Idiots.</em> Once again thinking, that Granger was intelligent enough to use her wand he searched for her in the crowd. He supposed she would be near Potter. They were… friends after all. Finding the platform on which the contestants stood Draco couldn’t see Granger. <em>Curious. </em>Furrowing his brows, he searched again. Indeed, she wasn’t there. <em>And neither is Weasel, </em>Draco thought. How weird. They were inseparable, never going anywhere without the others. Draco could see how Potter too searched for them rather frantically. The green-eyed boy looked flustered, nervous even. Besides him stood Longbottom. They had a tense conversation, based on their body language. Draco wondered what they were discussing for a fraction of a second, but deciding it had to be about Granger and Weasel based on Potter’s searching gaze. Dumbledore started talking, Draco didn’t listen. Something about something precious being taken or whatever. And then the canon boomed, startling Draco and the other students. Filch had, yet again, fired the canon too early which deserved him an annoyed glare from Dumbledore. Glancing back at the champions platform they were gone. He saw a blurred outline of one of them in the lake. <em>How terribly boring. Their task being underwater making us unable to see. </em>He searched for Granger again. Every two minutes or so he would search for her among the crowd. As the twenty minutes had passed, he grew uneasy. <em>Surely, she wouldn’t miss the task altogether? </em>He grew more and more anxious as time went on. It was weird and not like her at all. Merlin, she even showed up for Potter’s Quidditch matches even though she hated the sport!</p><p>He heard cheers from the students as two people broke the water surface. Diggory and Chang swam towards the nearest platform. What had Chang been doing underwater? “… something precious has been taken from them.” Draco took in a sharp breath. <em>No, she can’t be… impossible. How can she? </em>But who thought of Granger as being precious? Potter did, of course, but since the Weasel was also missing, Draco concluded Potter’s person was him. <em>Who will save Granger then?</em></p><p>Just as he finished the thought the water surface broke again. Krum’s face looking odd, transforming, and morphing. And besides him… besides him Granger took in huge gulps of air, her lips a shade of blue, and her skin too pale. He felt relief. And he felt jealous as she clung to Krum’s side.</p><p>***</p><p>He sat in the library – his favourite spot had been taken by Granger and the two morons she called friends. She had her back to him, and Potter and Weasel sat opposite her. When he had arrived, she had sat alone, and, true to their little game, he announced his entrance with as much noise as possible, and succeeding in annoying her sufficiently to make her stop her furious scribbling and casting him a glance. The idiots had arrived two hours later. Why they were friends, Draco couldn’t understand. Granger far outshined them in terms of academic skill. Weasel had no academic talent whatsoever, him being a leech and getting Granger’s help and guiding. Potter, though fairly accomplished in Defence Against the Dark Arts, survived school on dumb luck on which he relied too heavily on, and Dumbledore’s favour. Saint Potter, Dumbledore’s golden goose, and Weasel, the Weasley with no other talent than being friends with the right people, both of them achieving average grades. When he thought about it, Granger was the odd man out – she disliked Quidditch, she had more intellect in her pinky than they had in their entire body, and</p><p> Her hair was plaited, which made no sense, as Granger didn’t care about such things. Perhaps her dormmates had done her hair? It was a strange thought. Draco had only ever seen Granger with the Potter and Weasel. he could hardly imagine her sitting down and talk about… whatever it was that girls talked about.<br/>Potter, whose hair still looked like it tried to escape him pointing in all directions, seemed oblivious to the weird glances Weasel gave Granger, he looked constipated. Granger, who had her head buried in her books and essay, didn’t notice the glances either.</p><p><em>Does Weasel fancy her?</em> He didn’t even blame him if he did. Granger was magnificent after all, a force of nature.</p><p>“Piss off, ferret!” Weasel snarled at him, as the redhead had caught Draco stare at Granger. Draco winced. Did he <em>have </em>to remind him of that particular episode? He felt heat creep up from his neck, blooming on his cheeks – both from embarrassment and from anger.</p><p>“Don’t you ever shut up?” Potter looked up from his parchment and gave Weasel a confused look and then his green eyes landed on Draco, understanding slowly dawned on him. <em>Merlin, he is denser than a brick wall. </em>He wanted to give a heated comeback, to snarl at him or even hiss, but it came out tired.</p><p>Weasel, completely misunderstanding Draco’s tone, narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists.</p><p>“Just ignore him,” he heard Granger whisper and put a delicate hand on a clenched fist. Weasley instantly relaxed against her touch.</p><p><em>Does she fancy him!? </em>He sneered at them, got up and packed up his things and left before he could hear anymore, before he could see things he didn’t want to see. Storming of he headed for the astronomy tower. It had been his sanctuary since he had learned to produce the Patronus. People seemed to forget the tower existed and thus he could find solace there. His chest felt like it had been filled with iron making it hard to breathe. The rational part of his mind knew that Granger could fancy whoever she would, it didn’t matter. The other part, the selfish part of him, wanted Granger to fancy him, to touch his hands, to whisper quiet words in his ear, to sooth away the anger, confusion, and hurt feelings. He dug the heel of his hands into his eyes, wishing his hurt feeling would just go away.</p><p>***</p><p>His Father was in high spirits. He would walk around the manor smirking and almost glowing with anticipation. Draco should be glad; he should be basking in Father’s good mood. He really ought to be happy as Father didn’t spend much time at home. He came home late at night and spend entire weekends away. Draco ought to be relieved at his absence, as it meant he could explore his feelings for Granger in private. Draco should be happy. But the high spirits unnerved him, and the absence made him nervous. It was never said aloud – Draco suspected it was Mother’s doing – but Draco knew none the less. His Father had never hided the fact that he loathed Muggles and Muggle-borns, a view Draco himself had adopted for many years only recently shedding the prejudice and hate from his person.</p><p>The sun had barely risen in the horizon, the dew was still clinging to the grounds. He walked around the rose gardens. He had done so every morning since the summer break had begun two weeks earlier. For a short amount of time in the morning, the world smelled like summer rain. And he searched among the roses. Slowly he worked his way through them, taking in their scents. He spent several minutes at each rose, trying to compare their scents to Granger’s. He only had a short time as the sun soon will be strong enough to banish the dew. <em>No, it’s not that one either, </em>he thought as he looked down at the red rose. He continued his search. If he was lucky Draco would be able to discern another two roses before the dew would disappear. Draco stood before a rosebush with large orange roses. Even from a distance he could smell them, their sweet scent mingling in the air and he thought the scent might be familiar. He had to be sure though, and Draco bent down, closed his eyes, and took a whiff, breathing in deeply letting the scent of the orange flowers fill his senses. And it was Granger. And flashes of blue and caramel eyes. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips.</p><p>“Violet,” he called. A second later a soft crack could be heard.</p><p>“Yes, Master Draco,” the girl elf said in a squeaky voice. She wrung her ear in her hands, and her violet eyes was locked on the ground under her feet.</p><p>“Please make sure a fresh bouquet of this particular rose is always in my room,” he said and pointed at the roses. The elf lifted her gaze and followed his direction. She nodded vigorously.</p><p>“Yes, of course Master Draco!” she squealed and disappeared.</p><p>Draco found his room to be filled with the heavenly scent of Granger when he went to bed later that day. Another day had passed, Father arriving home late and in high spirits. Although Draco had tried not to think about it, he knew. He knew because Potter had returned from the third task clutching Diggory so tightly it had taken two adults to pry him away. And still Potter had fought them, trying to get back to the boy on the ground. Everything had been so quiet – Draco could almost hear the other students’ heartbeat. Even the birds had stopped singing. Potter had had a look of despair and anguish, guilt clearly etched on his face and mourning visible in his green eyes. Draco knew the reason for Father’s unnatural high spirits because Potter had said the words which had made Draco quiver with fear and make the crowd gasp in shock and disbelief.</p><p>
  <em>He’s back.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Beginning part IV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>An update a day keeps the Dementors away! – at least for a while.</p><p>This is it guys, this is the last flashback and now the story will truly begin. Thank you so much for all your comments and kind words. They mean the world to me.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Draco</p><p>The school year had just begun, and already Draco found it unbearable. Too many classes were joined by Gryffindor. And it was impossible not to look at her, to chance a glance when he was sure nobody would notice. Now, as Snape drawled instructions in the front of the class, Draco couldn’t stop his mind from wandering. He glanced at the witch sitting diagonally in front of him. He could see her knee peeking out through her robes and suddenly there was a riot in his mind. Oh, he would love to push those robes away, revealing her body to him. The minx never showed much skin – hadn’t done so since the Yule Ball, practically driving him crazy because he wanted to see the sunkissed skin with freckles. All the other girls had begun to unbutton their shirt a bit, wearing shorter skirts revealing their thighs. Pansy had done so too, tried her best to capture Draco’s attention. But not Granger. Draco would love to explore the shape of her legs, pushing her skirt up while kissing her senseless. <em>I wonder if she has more freckles hidden. </em>He imagined her skin would feel like silk. Or perhaps like rose petals. It would be soft, that he was sure of. And flashes of blue and sunkissed shoulders dusted with freckles.</p><p>Movement disturbed Draco as the rest of the class were heading for the door. Draco stood and swiftly packed away his book and supplies. Seconds before reaching the door Snape drawled at him.</p><p>“A moment, Mr. Malfoy?” Draco stopped in his tracks and casted a glance at his professor. As always Snape was dressed in black robes. His long greasy hair hadn’t changed either. Draco didn’t expect it to ever change. But his eyes were a bit different. Snape looked curious. Draco just nodded at him, turning around fully to face the potions professor. “I see you have taken quite a… fancy to Ms. Granger,” he sneered looking rather disgusted. Draco paled.</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he denied. Even to him his voice sounded weak with no strength in it. Snape merely raised an eyebrow.</p><p>“Is that so?” Disbelief colouring his tone. “I could have sworn I detected rather… graphic images of you and Ms. Granger,” he continued, and disgust was visible on his face. But how the bloody Hell could Snape know about Draco’s thoughts? Granger was his secret; nobody could know about her. He felt panic rise in the pit of his stomach, fighting to keep a neutral face. “There is no need to hide your feelings, Mr. Malfoy, I know what you’re thinking,” Snape interrupted his turmoil. <em>Know what I’m thinking? </em>He thought blankly. And it hit him. But Snape couldn’t be… could he? He was so average. A brilliant potions master, yes. But beyond that, he was a rather average wizard. Snape’s ice cold glare confirmed Draco’s suspicions before his words could. “Yes, Mr. Malfoy, I’m a Legilimens,” he confirmed. “And you need to learn to control your thoughts. They are dangerous for you. Do you think the Dark Lord would be forgiving if he found out his loyal servant’s son defiled himself? Yes, I know about your father’s… political point of view, there is no need to deny it.” Draco stared at him, angry and too proud to admit that he might be needing Occlumens any time soon.</p><p>“I don’t need you,” Draco said in a clipped voice. Turning on his heels he marched to the door, ripping the door open to face an empty corridor.</p><p>“If not to protect yourself or your parents, then do it to protect her,” he heard Snape drawl behind him before Draco stormed off. He didn’t need Snape to teach him anything. Draco wouldn’t come near the Dark Lord so what did it matter, really? He would have no use of the ability.</p><p>That night he let Pansy seduce him. He needed to push Granger out of his thoughts, and so Pansy was now wriggling in his lap, placing open mouthed kisses along his jaw and neck while her fingers unbuttoned his shirt. She pushed it off him and let her fingers travel to his hair. She tugged at the strands, and Draco closed is eyes as their mouths once again wrestled. He removed her shirt too, touching her skin. She pushed him down on the bed and he complied, he let her take the lead. And soon they were both naked on his bed. She straddled him and his hands were on her narrow hips. Her breast bounced with every move she made; head thrown back she moaned. And it did feel good. It really did. It was the most amazing feeling he had ever experienced up until that point. He closed his eyes, and the girl straddling him transformed. The straight black hair became an unruly mass of chocolate, her dark brown eyes became caramel and liquid gold, her porcelain skin was suddenly sunkissed. The pug like nose transformed into an adorable slightly upturned nose dusted with golden freckles. The thin lips become full and plump, swollen from heated kisses. Her narrow hips became wider in his mind, the bottom rounder, breasts smaller, and shoulders narrower with freckles dusted there as well. He found his first ever release in Pansy to the mental image of Granger. And flashes of blue with soft skin.</p><p>
  <em>Merlin save me.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>***</em>
</p><p>Now that the cat was out of the box, he couldn’t stop the mental images of a naked Granger under him, moaning with her pretty little voice. It didn’t matter where he was, he could picture her naked. There, in the library, up against a shelf of books. Or there, in the Transfiguration classroom, Granger’s back on the desk and Draco standing between her legs…</p><p>Pansy had been encouraged by his sudden interest, and often she was successful in seducing him. But it wasn’t Pansy Draco found his pleasure in, not really. It may be Pansy under him or on top of him, but in Draco’s mind she always transformed and morphed into the wild Gryffindor witch. Pansy didn’t know this and thought that Draco had finally discovered her hidden qualities. And so Pansy proclaimed they were dating. It didn’t matter. Not really. He couldn’t get Granger anyway. Why bother denying himself pleasure by being with Pansy?</p><p>Even though he knew that Granger could never be his, he still wanted her to notice him. Him becoming a prefect had been obvious, second in their year since their first year at Hogwarts, and of course Granger had become a prefect too, top of their year and all that. His academics were important to Draco, and therefore he accepted the honour of being a prefect, Draco and Granger being the only fifth years among the prefects. And he took advantage of that. He would drag Pansy down a corridor and start snugging her in plain view, knowing that this was Granger’s route. His heart would start accelerating when he heard the soft steps, and he would make an effort on Pansy’s throat, making her moan and sigh.</p><p>Today was such a day. The soft sound of her feet made Draco’s heart skip a beat. With new energy he sucked and licked at the sensitive skin on Pansy’s throat making her gasp. His hands travelled up and down her body, grapping her derriere and squeezing.</p><p>“Ahem,” Granger cleared her throat before continuing. “Perhaps you could find a more appropriate place?”</p><p>Draco turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow and smirking at her. “Sod off Granger.” Draco liked the flushed look on her face reminding him of a time with flashes of blue and a pretty blush. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Her uniform was impeccable – not a single fold or crease was visible. He forgot the girl I his arm who was pressed against the wall.</p><p>“Yeah, Mudbloods aren’t welcome here!” Pansy yelled at her and Draco’s jaw clenched. Even though she didn’t say anything or let any emotion show on her face or eyes, Draco knew the slur hat hit its mark as he observed the colour draining from her face.</p><p>“Whatever jo say, Parkinson,” she sniffed, disdain visible in her body language and indifference in her voice. She held her head high as she turned on her heels and stalked away. <em>Damn you, Pansy, you stupid bint! </em>She pulled his face down to hers and assaulted his lips. And Pansy morphed into Granger in flashes of blue.</p><p>***</p><p>A month before Christmas Draco received a letter. He sat in the Great Hall eating his breakfast in peace and quiet. Very few students were up this early which was why Draco enjoyed it. The Great Hall was quiet, the silence only broken by the clatter of utensils or mumbled greetings. At his own table sat a few sixth and seventh years reading in books or The Prophet. The Ravenclaw table was one three quarter full. Some checked their essays others read. None of them spoke. Hufflepuff table was all but empty but for a few seventh years, quietly talking and laughing. Gryffindor, however, was empty but for the lonely form taking residence there. Her back was towards Draco, but he would recognise her everywhere. Her wild, chocolate curls spilled down her back, her back straight as she read a book eating a piece of toast. He spent some time, observing her and drinking several cups of tea while the Great Hall filled with students. Soon all tables were filled, and the silence seemed like a distant dream.</p><p>His storm grey owl, Shadow, glided through the air and dropped a white envelope of good quality in his hands. The wax seal indicated that the letter came from home, and the elegant cursive writing revealed to be from his Mother. Ever since his third year his parents had rarely sent him any letters. Curiously, he opened the envelope and a short note lay inside.</p><p>
  <em>Draco,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We are to receive some special guests during the holiday. It has been a long time since last I saw my dear sister. It is such a shame you had planned on spending the Holiday at Hogwarts, but I know how important your academics are.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Love,<br/>Mother </em>
</p><p>He stiffened. His chest felt constricted and his breathing was laboured. He felt cold fingers claw their way down his spine and something unpleasant wormed in his stomach. Blood rushed in his ears and his heart felt like it tried to break free from his ribcage. He felt like he had run headfirst into a brick wall. <em>Voldemort in my home.</em> Draco quickly hid the note lest others see it. He doubted they would understand the meaning of it, but better to be safe than sorry. He needed the Occlumency which Snape could teach him. He needed to protect the people himself and the people he loved: his parents and her.</p><p>It was just a few hours before curfew. Draco stood in front of heavy oak doors which had turned dark grey with age. The corridor was empty, but Draco could hear the laughter from the floor above him. The dungeons were not the nicest place in Hogwarts. Often it felt damp. And although he had never found a single cobweb, he still felt like the floor and walls were dirty. It may not be dirty, but it was certainly a cold place, heat from the sun never had the opportunity to warm up the stones like the rest of the castle. Whether it was the November chill or the thought of Voldemort that made Draco’s fingers feel like ice, he didn’t know. Probably a little bit of both. <em>Do it for them, do it for them, do it for them… </em>Swallowing his pride, he lifted a pale hand and knocked the heavy wooden door to Snape’s office.</p><p>“Come in,” a lazy drawl come from the other side of the door, slightly muffled. Draco took a deep and steadying breath before opening the door and slipping inside Snape’s office and closing the door behind him. Snape quirked a lazy eyebrow fixing Draco with an indifferent glare. <em>Do it for them, do it for them… </em>Another deep breath and flashes of blue.</p><p>“I need your help.”</p><p>It would be the first Holiday Draco would spend at Hogwarts, the first Holiday away from home.</p><p>***</p><p>1996 – fifth year.</p><p>Months passed by where Snape taught Draco Occlumency. Draco spent several evenings and weekends to perfect it. The time spent in his professor’s company wasn’t exactly pleasant. Snape would try to find Draco’s most intimate hopes and desires. When Draco failed to hide his thoughts Snape would mock him. Sometimes even humiliate him by digging around until he found the flashes of blue and Pansy who morphed into Granger. Snape didn’t care about privacy, Draco learnt that the hard way. He had to learn how to make his mind a blank slate and hide her in the deepest corner of his mind in a box. A periwinkle box with a heavy lock on it. Every thought of her, every desire hidden away. And he felt… empty. He had perfected the art of false memories. Being a natural occlumens had helped. It had made it possible for Draco to learn the ability to conceal her and to lie about her. Snape was satisfied and said he was ready to face Voldemort. Draco hoped he was ready. <em>I have to be ready.</em></p><p>The pink terror had managed to drive Dumbledore away at some point – Draco hadn’t even noticed too occupied in his training and academics. He disliked the ugly toad quite a bid. Not only was she a horrible teacher she was a horrible person as well. Her beady eyes shining with greed and barely hidden contempt. He could see how much she hated the students whenever her gaze wandered over the assembling students in the Great Hall, her face twisting into a horrible grimace.</p><p>He had joined Umbridge's inquisitorial squad as he had believed it to advance his further career by adding it to his resumé later on. It never could hurt to have been part of something supported by the ministry after all. He had joined the squad alongside Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle and several others from Slytherin.</p><p>As he snuck into Umbridge’s office – a pink nightmare, like a six years old girl had gone crazy in realising some fairytale dream – he could hear muffled voices; Potter, Weasley, and Granger. A quick silencing charm on his feet secured that his footsteps wouldn’t give ham away. Inside, Potter was crouched in front of the fireplace, back against Draco. Weasel, the dense prick, would have been able to see Draco if he weren’t so engaged in whatever Potter told them. Granger stood behind Potter, closest to Draco. In a quick movement he snatched her, pressing one hand firmly against her mouth and the other was splayed around her middle. Hel held her close, felt her frantic heartbeat under his hands, like a Golden Snidget’s wings, trying to escape her ribcage. He tightened his hold on her, fingers splayed trying to touch as much as possible, pressing her against him. He could feel her ribs and her breathing. Pleasant shivers ran down his spine and jolts of warmth spread through his body, originating from where he touched her. For a second Draco felt Granger’s box rattle loudly in his mind, and he couldn’t help himself the deep breath he took near her ear. Her hair tickled his cheek – it felt softer than he had imagined and smelled like roses. It was intoxicating. Flashes of blue and a scent of roses. And he was lost in her.</p><p>Seconds later the pink nightmare walked in, demanding to know what was going on whit her wand raised and the rest of the inquisitorial squad joined in the office alongside Lovegood and Longbottom, the latter having earned himself a bloodied nose as Lovegood and Longbottom attacked them and Crabbe got a bit too… involved in the fight. Draco’s hand glided from Granger’s mouth down to her throat, before pushing her towards Pansy. Her proximity was dangerous, it had caused his mental walls to crumble. He couldn’t hear what was being said, trying desperately to close the lid to the periwinkle box again. <em>Fuck! </em></p><p>“Tell her, Harry!” her clear voice broke his concentration.</p><p>“What? Tell me what?” the pink beast gave confused glances to Granger and Potter, wand still raised.</p><p>“If you won’t, I will!” she bit her lip. Chewed on it for a moment. Her gaze flickered to Weasel and Potter, almost as if she was trying to communicate with them. “Dumbledore’s secret weapon.”</p><p><em>She is lying. </em> But Draco kept his mouth shut. He liked this cunning side of her.<br/>Draco left the office as Umbridge followed the trio.</p><p>“You’ll take care of those two, yeah?” Draco asked over his shoulder at Crabbe and Goyle. Both of them nodded enthusiastically. It shouldn’t be that hard to keep track of two people.</p><p>He needed to get out and find some peace and quiet in order to force Granger into the periwinkle box; right now, his senses were overwhelmed by her and flashes of blue.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Reunions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You guys are amazing! Thank you SO much for your kind and encouraging words. And to show my appreciation I will share a new chapter with you. The story will divert more from canon henceforth as the plot develops. </p><p>The story will move forward at a slower pace than in the flashbacks. I truly hope you will continue to enjoy this. Thank you!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>1996 – summer.</p><p>
  <strong>Draco</strong>
</p><p>His room smelled like her. Well, almost like her. The sweet smell of her hair permeated the air, but the smell of summer rain was missing, the scent he suspected was her and her alone. The periwinkle box didn’t even stir. He had meditated like a mad man after the slip up in Umbridge’s office, a slip up that was unacceptable and dangerous. He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. The soft mattress under him dipped under his weight, the emerald green silk bedding felt soft under his hands and he let them travel up and down the silk, soothing himself. His bed stood at the centre of his room. It was made of walnut – he liked the dark tree – and the bedsheets were emerald green with silver embroidery, forming a grand tree. The corner closest to the door contained his broom and Quidditch gear. On a walnut shelf stood the very first snitch he had ever caught alongside some trophies – both from academic achievements and from Quidditch. The other side of his bed stood two plush armchairs in emerald green. Between them where a teatable in walnut – <em>Merlin I have a lot in walnut </em>– and in front of the sitting arrangements were a fireplace cut in white marble. The roses stood on top of the fireplace, spreading their sweet scent. Next to the fireplace stood simple bookshelves in walnut with his private collection of books – a mix of schoolbooks and literature. The wall opposite his bed were a soft green colour, almost the colour of moss, with a grand family tree. His family. The branches were long and dotted with pictures and names. Small white flowers adorned the pictures of women and small knights adorned the male pictures. Opposite the door to his room where his private balcony overlooking the gardens. It was his first day home after the term had finished. Something was different on the family tree. The picture of Sirius Black had become dull where it had been vibrant before, almost shining. <em>So, he had died.</em> He let his gaze wander along the branches, and they landed on his Aunt Bellatrix. He wondered when he would see her, she had been out of Azkaban for several months already. He hoped the answer was never, but knew it was a child’s hope – he would meet her sooner or later. He did not look forward to it.</p><p>Father’s was taken to Azkaban a few days later. Potter had made sure of that, as he had sent a successful Stupefy at him, giving the ministry opportunity to take him into custody. Shacklebolt had witnessed against Father, earning him a one-way ticket to Azkaban the moment it had been revealed that Father had a Dark Mark. Draco didn’t know why Father had been at the ministry in the first place, or why he had been at the Department of Mysteries with other Death Eaters. And how could he know? Draco wasn’t a Death Eater and he had no desire to become one. How could he when he loved a Muggle-born? No, he didn’t believe this particular… political view, something had changed – he had changed.</p><p>Mother had held on to her dignity when they shipped Father away, silent tears glided down her face her back ramrod straight. She had almost crushed Draco’s hand, clutching it so tightly that Draco feared it might break. Her hand was ice cold to the touch, his own hand did nothing to warm her up. Her silent tears and vice grip were the only things that indicated how upset she truly was. But being a Black and a Malfoy meant that a great show of emotion was unacceptable. They had received venomous glares from several ministry workers and Draco didn’t appreciate that as Mother’s hold on him tightened every time a glare was thrown their way. Like they were responsible for Father’s actions. <em>Bloody idiot. Getting caught and shipped of to Azkaban.</em> He gave Mother a reassuring squeeze, and then they left the ministry with their head held high – they were still Malfoys and demanded respect. They walked out of their fireplace into a sitting room, brushing the sod off of their outer robes before Mother cleaned them with a quick Scourgify and it was if they had never left Malfoy Manor in the first place. The room had a thick Persian rug softening the sound of feet. To the left of the fireplace were to grand windows – almost from floor to ceiling – with dark blue velvet curtains held back by black ropes, allowing the sunlight to light up the room. Opposite the windows stood a small table and two stools with a high back, cushioned with the same dark blue velvet as the curtains. The tree used to the set was rich brown, walnut, and had intricate details carved into it: dragons and flowers. The set was perfect for a quick floo call resulting in tea and biscuits. The walls in the room were white, and covered by paintings; some were landscapes, others were flowers, and others were of long forgotten witches and wizards. Big shelfs of walnut containing books, photographs, and trophies stood along one wall. The sitting room was used as their travel room.</p><p>Draco turned to watch his Mother. Silent tears still glided down her pretty pale face, and so Draco offered her a handkerchief. She gratefully accepted it and with elegant movements she dried her eyes. Only her red eyes now indicated her sadness. A soft pop alerted them of another presence in the room.</p><p>“Mistress, a Madame Lestrange is here-“ the elf didn’t even finish the sentence before the door to the travel room was flung open, banging into the wall, and a blur of black and hair stormed into the room.</p><p>“Cissy! Tell the stupid thing that I’m most welcome here,” the woman said contempt dripping from her voice. His aunt. Draco had never met hid aunt Bellatrix before, be he had seen photographs of her – both here in the manor, but also in the Prophet. Bellatrix didn’t look like Mother despite them being sisters. Mother had straight shoulder length, white blond hair and light eyes, a mix between blue and grey, a straight nose with lips just this side of being thin. Her face narrow with a sharp chin and high cheekbones. A royal and calm countenance. Bellatrix was the exact opposite. She had tight, black curls reaching her midback. They looked tousled, like she hadn’t seen a brush in years – which she probably hadn’t – making her hair look wild. She had a round face with a crocked nose which looked like it might have been broken at some point and full, plump lips. A soft, rounded chin with a small cleft. Her eyes were dark brown with a hint of craziness lurking in their depths. Her smile was crooked and revealed teeth that had rotten.</p><p>“Bella, a pleasure to see you here,” Mother replied in a distanced tone. Ignoring her tone, Aunt Bella turned away from Mother and assessed Draco.</p><p>“Dearest Nephew! I haven’t seen you since you were a baby in your mother’s arms! How you have grown,” she appraised him, looking him over as if looking for faults. “You look quite a bit like your father. Shame he was of so little use,” she shrugged. “Your father might be a disappointment,” Mother’s eyes hardened, “but you, you are half Black, and I have great expectations for you. I brought someone with me who wishes to meet you,” she said in a hushed and exciting tone, her childlike giddiness made Draco uneasy.</p><p>A grotesque creature slithered through the open door and into the room. Draco supposed it was a human – there were arms, legs, a torso, and a face, but he wasn’t entirely sure. Long, black robes covered the body, the robes had wide sleeves, revealing long sinew arms which was pale, almost translucent as big, fat, blue veins travelled the length of the arms ending in long, pale, bony fingers which had long grey nails at the tip of them – his hands reminded Draco of claws. And the face was something unnatural. The lips were non-existent, and behind them were yellow teeth which were filed sharp enabling them to rip someone’s throat out. There was no nose, only two slits reminding Draco of a snake, the ears glued to the side of his head. He had no hair – no hair at all! – and the blue veins travelling around his head was a strange sight. But the thing which made shockwaves of terror course through his body was the eyes. Crimson red with slits as the pupils. They were menacing and soulless. At his feet, a massive python slithered, several meters long and as thick as the trunk of a young tree.</p><p>“Ah, young Master Malfoy. Finally, we meet.”</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Hermione</strong>
</p><p>Hermione stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom. Her fingers trailed the scar Dolohov’s curse had given her. it started from her left hipbone and travelled up past her bellybutton where it stopped. It still looked fresh; pink and very sensitive. Closing her eyes, she could still feel the warm blood seeping out of the wound, making her shirt cling to her flesh, she could still smell the cobbery tang in the air. She could still feel the pain as the curse sliced through her flesh, she hadn’t been fast enough to erect a shield. She shuddered. The Healer at St. Mungos had told her how lucky she had been, the cutting curse hadn’t damaged her organs and it had healed nicely. Or so they had said. Looking at it now she didn’t think it had healed nicely at all, being as pink as it was. She hadn’t meant to scrutinize her appearances, but she had caught a glimpse of the scar in the mirror and she had stopped and stared at it. Hermione didn’t think herself a vain person, not at all. She had never cared for her appearance, having never tried to tame her hair or wearing makeup – the only exception was the Yule Ball in her third year, were her date had been Victor Krum. She had wanted to make a good impression, having spent hours on her hair and an embarrassing amount of Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion in order to manage her hair which had a life of its own, she had even put on a bit of mascara. She could still recall her trepidation when her dancepartner suddenly had been Malfoy: he had looked nice in his expensive, tailormade robes with the silver detailing. His eyes had been molten silver, and his face relaxed – she had expected to see reluctance and disdain when it had been revealed that they would have to take to turns but his face had been relaxed. His hair had looked like a halo surrounding his head, and he had kept his eyes locked on hers, and her stomach had flipped. She had raised her hand, but had not touched him, still she could feel the warmth radiating from him. It felt like a long time ago, like a dream just out of reach. Following the events in the Department of Mysteries Hermione had been glad she had pressured Harry to start Dumbledore’s Army. Harry had been reluctant at first, clearly disliking the idea. But Hermione had pushed him. <em>Thank Merlin I did! </em>Her green-eyed friend had been an extraordinary teacher, having the ability to give confidence. Even Neville had grown and casted spells he had always struggled with. They had learned to defend themselves which had proven invaluable as they had fought the Death Eaters. <em>We could have died, </em>she thought. Not that death scared her, she wouldn’t know after all, if she died. No, it was the thought of her friends dying that upset her greatly. But they hadn’t died, and the Death Eaters hadn’t gotten what they came for. In the big picture it was a success, but Hermione knew better. It had ben a tragedy. Harry’s agonizing screams still haunted her; he had sounded like a wounded animal, like a part of him had died. She didn’t know how to comfort him; how could she even comfort him? When they had returned to Hogwarts Hermione had hugged him, ignoring his initial struggle to break free, refusing to let him hide away and after a minute he had broken down in her arms silent sobs shaking his shoulders. And she had held onto him even tighter, even allowing a few tears of her own to escape. Placing a flat hand on her stomach she recalled Malfoy’s hand. She had been pressed against his back, and his heart had been a steady rhythm. Her own heart had raced away, she wanted to convince herself it was because she had been afraid. But the truth was, that it was because he was touching her, sending pleasant jolts through her body, making her dizzy.<br/>
Sighing she turned away from the mirror let herself be engulfed by the warm water, washing away her worries and stress.</p><p>***</p><p>Hermione’s parents sensed something was wrong. They didn’t know what had happened only a few weeks prior, Hermione didn’t want them to worry. She no longer held the Prophet, articles about how Voldemort was back wasn’t exactly helpful. No, better to keep them in the dark as long as possible. But they suspected something was wrong.</p><p>“Hermione, honey, are you ready to go?” Her Mum called from down the stairs.</p><p>“Just a minute!” Hermione’s trunk was half full. In two weeks school would start, and these two weeks she was to spend at the Burrow with the Weasleys. Sweet, plump Molly, with her fire curls and warm, brown eyes and friendly smile; Arthur, tall and skinny, with cobber hair and blue eyes, freckles covering his face, his good nature and sweet person; Fred and George, two drops of water but still different, Fred being the troublemaker and the outspoken one, his blue eyes glinting with mischief, his lips always hiding a grin at the corners, slightly freckled face always lighted up by past pranks; George, so similar to his brother in appearance, was the quiet one, a troublemaker at heart, but more retained, his lips hid a more genuine smile than Fred, his eyes glinting with more than mischief something deeper, more sensitive to the people around him; Ginny, with her brown eyes, her shiny hair being a mix between cobber and fire, light freckles on her forehead and cheeks, a genuine smile on her thin lips, her souls as fiery as her hair; and Ron, Ron with the head of fire, crystal blue eyes, freckles covering his entire face, his lopsided smile, tall and lanky, almost taller than the twins, his loyal and brave heart, gentle nature, and fierce temper and the smell of summersun. Hermione loved her parents dearly and she was proud of her heritage. Since she was a child she had been able to do things she couldn’t explain; the flowers blooming in the middle of the winter, the autumn leaves going from yellow-brown to bright red, the pictures in her storybook starting to move. And McGonogall had explained how the curious things happened, had told Hermione of a wonderful place with people, just like her! And to a young Hermione, who had never fitted in and had never had a friend, it had sounded glorious. Her eyes had become bright with the promises of friends, of someone to share the burden of the world with. The magic had enchanted her, and it had felt right. She had been home. Leaving the magical world during the Holidays and returning to the Muggle world had been easy at first, when magic was still new and foreign to her. But now, now it was unbearable. She didn’t belong there anymore, she was a witch after all and magic flowed within her, a steady flow of power and warmth, and try as they might her parents didn’t truly understand. So, Hermione had been grateful for the invitations to spend part of the summer at the Burrow surrounded by magic. Frantically she packed the last of her belongings, grapping the wrapped gift as she left her room. The Weasleys had accepted her with open arms and hearts. Ginny had even been Hermione’s first girl friend, and now Luna – quirky, sweet, gentle, dreamy Luna – was her friend as well. Hermione had made it her mission to show her appreciation, although Molly Weasley would always protest at the gifts Hermione brought Hermione stubbornly continued to give them. They weren’t big tokens after all; homemade biscuits, some sweets from the Muggle world, and, just for Arthur, some small Muggle thing – like the pen she had gifted him last summer. The sheer joy and wonder on his face had been priceless, and her smile had only widened as he had muttered: “Curious, these Muggles.”<br/>
Before descending the stairs, she gave her room a final glance, making sure she had remembered everything before walking down to the living room where her parents awaited her.</p><p>They arrived at the Burrow an hour before supper. As the car drove down the gravelroad, she saw a tall redhead waiting for her at the door. <em>Ron! </em>She couldn’t contain the happiness, and why should she? Hermione threw herself into Ron’s waiting arms, hugging him fiercely breathing in his scent of summersun.</p><p>“Blimey, it’s good to see you too, Mione,” he laughed, surprised at her eagerness. And it tugged at her heart.</p><p>“Ronald, it’s good to see you again. How are you?”</p><p>“I’m fine, Mrs. Granger, thanks. How are you?” The tip of his ears turned red and he released his hold of Hermione. While the pleasantries were exchanged Molly appeared at the door wearing a yellow dress with an apron that had – at some point – been white.</p><p>“Mr. and Mrs. Granger, how good to see you again. You are just in time for supper – No no, I insist on you joining us!”</p><p>And sitting around the cramped dinner table surrounded by her family and loved ones, Hermione felt happy. Her parents smiled and laughed at something Arthur had said (he had loved the eraser and pencil she had brought him), and Ron gave her a shy smile which she returned, a blush creeping up her neck. Ginny smacked Fred at the back of his head making George spit out his water in laughter. Molly admonished Ginny, trying to look stern but failing as her eyes shone with contained mirth making her eyes crinkle at the corners. Hermione sighed. Yes, this was almost perfect.<br/>
The only person missing was Harry.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Looming shadows</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Draco </strong>
</p><p>His armed burned and itched and it felt like it was on fire with flames licking his left underarm. Looking at his arm, the flesh was swollen and sore, the swollen flesh an angry red colour. He had tried to cool it down with ice, but it had been painful to touch the arm and the coldness had sent what felt like jolts of lightning through his nerves, making Draco see stars. Even clothes had been painful, and so Draco had preferred to walk around with a rolled-up sleeve, only hiding the red and swollen flesh when he left the room. The Dark Mark was hideous, the ink seemed alive, and the snake wormed on his skin. The terrible thing had been painful to acquire, the pain had almost been unbearable, and his vision had gone black at the edges and stars had danced in front of his eyes. But he had refused to scream, refused the urge to open his mouth and let his surroundings know the agony he felt. He had clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth so hard he was surprised they hadn’t shattered and turned to dust. He hadn’t even wanted the Mark and now the fucking thing was etched in his skin. He leaned back in the plush chair he was sitting in, looking at the orange roses and thought about the events from two weeks prior.</p><p>Voldemort had been as unpleasant as he had imagined. His voice, when he had greeted Draco had ben a whisper, almost a hiss, but it was like satin, smooth, and almost seductive.</p><p>“Your aunt is quite right; you do look like your father. Hopefully, you’re smarter than him,” he tsk’ed. “I think,” silky voice in place, crimson eyes boring into Draco’s, “it’s about time you follow his footsteps and join this noble cause.” His tone was one which indicated that he had just bestowed Draco a great honour, and his face split in a horrifying smile revealing the sharpened, yellow teeth. Draco stiffened, his throat dry, and his tongue suddenly felt like a lump of lead in his mouth. He couldn’t even swallow. “Are you so happy you are unable to give me an answer?” The Dark Lord offered him an excuse, even though he knew, that Draco’s lack of response was caused by fear. Draco just lowered his head, not trusting his voice.</p><p>“See, My Lord, I told you he would be honoured. You honour us, our family.” Foolish woman. Draco could hear the admiration in her tone.</p><p>“Indeed. It would have been a shame if the Malfoy line were to… disappear.” Draco’s already tense body stiffened even further. Cold sweat broke out on his back, he felt the blood leave his face, and his hands felt like two icicles. <em>Surely, he doesn’t mean…? He can’t be serious in his threat; it would be absurd. It has to be a scare tactic. </em>“The Sacred Twenty-seven doesn’t have the same ring to it, wouldn’t you agree, Draco?” He would kill Mother if he refused to join him. Risk his own life – while not preferable – was more acceptable than risking Mother’s.</p><p>“Yes, My Lord.” Draco’s reply was a hoarse whisper. Voldemort had asked for his left him and Draco had complied with his head bowed down. Voldemort had a tight grip and wrenched his arm, so that the underside faced him. Draco saw the tip of the yew wand – like an extra finger – being pressed into his skin, and blood rushed in his ears, he didn’t hear the incantation. Black goo oozed from the tip of the pale wand and covered Draco’s arm, and then the burning began and a pain like no other flayed at Draco’s nerve endings. <em>Is this how it feels like to be under the Cruciatus curse? </em>The black goo slowly seeped into the skin and left the skull and snake on his skin, forever branding him. when the pain had finally stopped Draco had felt like his legs were about to give up, the were jelly and couldn’t support his weight.</p><p>“Well done, Draco.” Voldemort sounded pleased.</p><p>“You must be so proud, Cissy. He didn’t even make a sound. A proper Black.”</p><p>A soft knock on the door tore Draco out of his thoughts. Before he could bid the person to enter, his Mother glided into the room. He hadn’t had time to cover the mark, and the redness and irritation were visible to her. She walked to the other chair, and without invitation she sat down, folding her hands in her lap. Draco looked at her with mild interest, she never barged into his room like this. Today she wore a dark blue robe, the colour was twilight blue. It had white details at the hem and at the sleeves – lilies, leaves, and butterflies. Her hair was in a neat updo. He raised an eyebrow, silently asking why she was here. Without saying a word, she procured a small jar of red glass.</p><p>“What’s this?” he asked as he picked up the jar and lifted the lid. The containment was an ointment of sorts, it looked smooth, though rather thick in consistency. It had a light purple colour and smelled of something pleasant he couldn’t identify.</p><p>“It’s for your arm.” Draco didn’t reply. How could she have known his Mark was painful still? He had been so careful in concealing his discomfort and always wearing long sleeved shirts. The mad bitch hadn’t left yet, although Voldemort had left five days prior with the promise of returning and making the Manor his permanent base, he had needed to conceal the Mark. She just raised an elegant brow. “Do you honestly think I wouldn’t notice your discomfort? The way you have avoided using your left arm and been careful not to let anything touch it?” She sounded insulted. Draco lowered his gaze, feeling heat burn at his cheeks. “I am your mother; I notice these kinds of things.” Draco offered her an apology. Dipping is index finger in the ointment, he smeared some of it on his sensitive, painful flesh. The relief was instantaneous, and he sighed as the burning subsided. The ointment cooled his skin and the raw look on his flesh looked less infected.</p><p>“Thank you, Mother,” he said blissfully. Never had the absence of pain felt as good as it did right now. “I need to go to Borgin and Burkes. They might have something I need.”</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Hermione</strong>
</p><p>Harry had arrived at the Burrow three days before the term would begin with Dumbledore, though the old wizard didn’t stay long. His glasses were dirty and broken, being held together with tape, again. Hermione sighed. How many times had she fixed his glasses for him? She had lost track. They sat at the dinner table eating their breakfast in silence. They had planned to visit Diagon Alley that day to get the last supplies they needed for the new schoolyear.</p><p>Hermione felt her heart stop and her face pale, when she stepped out of the floo and into Diagon Alley. <em>No, this can’t be. </em>She heard herself make a small whimpering sound. Hermione felt like a part of her childhood had died: almost every single shop were closed. The previously colourful and lively street now looked grey and abandoned. Windows were destroyed in the closed shops, and almost no people were out and shopping, in spite of it almost being September 1<sup>st</sup>. Flourish and Blotts was still open which was a relieve to Hermione – she had always loved walking down the aisles where shelf after shelf were stacked with books, letting her finger glide over the spines of the new books. She could get lost in there, where the smell of books and parchment filled her senses. <em>At least I still have my safe haven</em>. Letting her gaze wander further, taking in the state of the other shops. Florean Fortescue’s was closed – Hermione and her parents had gotten ice cream in there when they had first visited Diagon Alley with McGonogall, it seemed like a distant dream, when she had had her first taste of magic and had been enchanted by the colours of Diagon Alley. Madam Makin’s was closed as well: the windows were barred and the light purple colour on the façade had faded to grey. Quality Quidditch Supplies had been closed as well – poor Harry. The shop had been a favourite of his. Ron and Harry always dragged Hermione with them even when she tried to put her heels in the ground and stand firm and unyielding – she would eventually let them drag her in, just for her to leave within five minutes and taking solace in Flourish and Blotts, waiting for Harry and Ron to come and find her hidden somewhere among the books. Eyelop’s and Olivander’s were closed too.</p><p>“Oh no, everyone gets their wand from Olivander,” Hermione said in a quiet voice. She remembered when she had gotten her wand. A nervous 11 years old Hermione had walked into the shop. Her parents had waited outside with McGonogall, the latter had insisted that getting a wand should be done so in private as it was very intimate. Taking in she shop, Hermione’s nose had crinkled a bit; boxes upon boxes filled the room in no visible order and a thick layer of dust was visible (had this been her shop, the boxes had been categorised and put into shelves, and there would be no dust!). The shop had a dim light, making it hard to see. Olivander had been kind. He had tried to explain what was about to happen and had patiently answered her questions, some answers more satisfying than other, “the wand chooses the wizard, Ms. Granger,” had not been a satisfying answer, but it was the only explanation she got on the matter on how a wand is chosen. She remembered when she had picked up the wand which was now her wand: the vine wood had been beautiful with delicate carvings of vine, and when she had picked it up, she had felt the magic course through her, warming up her hand, and the wand had hummed, begging her to cast a spell, any spell, so it could serve her. Her fingers touched the wand which was in her pocket. She felt better by the simple touch. Looking at her two friends her brow crinkled. She had expected Ron to know what was going on in the wizarding world seeing he had lived in it is whole life. No, the thing that struck Hermione as odd was Harry. He lived in the Muggle world, just like she did. Although he looked a bit sad he wasn’t surprised at all at the state of Diagon Alley. “How come you don’t appear surprised, Harry?”</p><p>“Oh, I keep the Prophet, although Uncle Vernon tried to stop me from reading it, but I have my methods. They have an article every time a shop closed,” he replied. And then his brow furrowed, and he gave her an odd look. “Wait, how come you don’t know?”</p><p>“I don’t keep the Prophet anymore. Mum and Dad’s been a bit worried. They don’t know anything, but they suspect it, so I try to protect them to keep information from the. I don’t want them to worry.” They nodded at her but didn’t say anything, opting for taking a hand each and give it a reassuring squeeze. Hermione felt lighter at the gesture, like they had removed a stone from her chest to share the burden.</p><p>The shops, which were still open, looked like they struggled to get by, the once vibrant colours had faded and become dull. All except the Twins’ shop. Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes was thriving, colourful and vibrant, witches and wizards coming and going in steady streams.</p><p>“How do they do it?” Hermione wondered aloud. Ron shrugged his shoulders, his blue eyes looked captivating as he gazed upon his brothers’ shop.</p><p>“Dunno, perhaps people need a laugh.”</p><p>They all needed to laugh.</p><p>***</p><p>It was a ridiculous thought. Yes, Malfoy was a mean, narcissistic git, but a Death Eater? Hermione didn’t believe it. It was a bit of a stretch to assume one would go from bully to racist supremacist. And she didn’t believe it for one second. She would admit that Malfoy and his mum had looked like they would rather not be seen as they had creeped around Diagon Alley, wearing the dullest clothes she had ever seen either of them wear. They had followed them to Borgin and Burkes, tried to figure out what they wanted in that creepy shop, but had been unable to. It had made Harry suspicious, and he now strongly believed that Malfoy had taken his dad’s place at Voldemort’s side. Hermione wasn’t sure though, it would require that the rich boy got his hands dirty for once, and it was highly unlikely. She said as much and watched Harry set his jaw, a stubborn glint to his green eyes. <em>He isn’t going to let this go</em>, she realised and knew that he would get himself into trouble sooner or later. And Ron, ever faithful, ever loyal, had backed Harry up, when Harry had shared his thoughts with them. Hermione could only shake her head. <em>Searching for trouble and seeing shadows which are not there. </em>Sighing she continued packing her trunk. The two weeks at the Burrow had flied by at breakneck speed, she like she had barely arrived. Tomorrow they would return to Hogwarts. Pushing away the thoughts of Malfoy out of her head – she didn’t even want to think about him, the stupid, arrogant pompous ass – she focused on more important manners. She contemplated how to improve her S.P.E.W-organisation. Ginny, Neville, and Luna – bless them – had signed her signature form demanding better treatment for house elves right after the incident at the Department of Mysteries. So far, only herself, Ron (Ron had been reluctant, but had signed it under threat that Hermione would never help him again if he didn’t do this for her), Harry, Neville, Luna, Ginny, Fred, and George had signed and wore the badges Hermione had made. Hermione wondered if she should continue knitting socks, hats, and scarfs – so far they hadn’t had any effect. Though, she admitted, they had been terrible, and one could barely see, what is was supposed to be. But she was better now, she had practised a lot over the summer, even picked up a trick or two by watching Molly knit. Perhaps she should make banners? Or flyers? Spread them around the Great Hall and along the corridors? And perhaps, if she asked nicely, Madame Pince might even allow a few flyers in the library? She wanted people to be aware of the abuse many elves faced, she desired proper working conditions for the poor creatures. Hermione had first entertained the thought when she had learned of the abuse sweet Dobby had suffered at the hands of Lucius Malfoy. The mere thought made Hermione’s blood boil and her temper flaring. How anyone could be so cruel and heartless, she couldn’t understand. She wouldn’t even try to understand it. She didn’t understand her Housemates reaction either, when she had informed them of her project. Most of them had laughed. Others had rolled their eyes, muttering under their breath that she was mental. It had hurt. Even Ron hadn’t understood. He had seemed confused as to why it was necessary, things were as they always had been. Harry had been the only one who seemed to understand her, and he had signed her form as quickly as possible. Her green eyed friend had looked at the others in the Common Room with a stern expression, and Hermione had been thankful. <em>Bless him! </em>She would make posters and flyers, she decided as picked up her books, and she would spread them in the Great Hall and the corridors – perhaps even at the Quidditch field? – and she would try to charm Madame Pince into allowing some in the library. Yes, she would do that. The elves deserved her best effort after all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I think that people tend to forget that Bellatrix is a Black and practically wizard royalty, which is why I have a bit more polished in her mannerism – she is still barking mad, rest assured. I hope you enjoyed this rather short chapter. Thank you for reading.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. What do you mean 'no'?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I am so happy for your comments and kudos. I hope you will continue to enjoy this story. Thank you, guys. </p><p>Please remember to stay safe and take care of each other.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Hermione </strong>
</p><p>“… For example, I smell newly cut grass, and parchment, and…” Trailing off as the last smell was unexpected. She had expected to smell summersun, something earthy and sweet, like blackberries but still masculine. She had expected to smell Ron. But this smell was unfamiliar to her, she had never encountered it before, and it puzzled her greatly. The smell wasn’t unpleasant, far from it, but she had never noticed it before. It was something earthy, not like Ron’s blackberries, but more like a forest mixed in with the smell of leather. It was a smell she thought was masculine. Blushing se took a small step back, her shoulder touching Malfoy and she quickly scurried away, thinking he wouldn’t appreciate being touched by someone like her.<br/>
She had, without batting an eye, identified each and every potion presented to them by their new potions professor. The new professor was the exact opposite of Snape; he was a man with an elderly man with a cheerful and friendly personality, he had a round stomach, indicating he liked food and perhaps the finer things in life, he had no beard and short grey hair. He had a snub nose, a pleasant smile, and blue eyes with bushy eyebrows above the eyes and he wore a dark blue robe. Slughorn had been very impressed, she could tell by the glint in his eyes. She had recognised the Amortentia by the mother of pearl colour, by the characteristic spiralling fumes, and by the smell. He had acquired her name, confusing her to be related with a prominent Pureblood family. Blushing even deeper she had replied that, no, she was Muggle-born. He had just nodded and awarded her ten points, and his eyes had glinted with excitement.</p><p>“Ms. Granger, a word?”</p><p>“Of course, Professor.” Chewing her bottom lip, she wondered if she had done something wrong – her potion had been good, but not perfect (which grated on Hermione’s nerves, it was unacceptable). Only she and Malfoy had been able to produce an acceptable potion, which had the desired effect. It had taken some effort from Hermione; her frustration had led her to pull at her hair and chewing furiously at her lips making it sore. Her hairpulling and the fumes from the cauldrons had made her hair poof and the frizz had returned with a vengeance. She didn’t even need a mirror to know this was the case. She could feel it as her hair defied gravity. <em>I need to take a shower in order to calm down this mess, </em>she thought.</p><p>“Now my dear – oh no need to look so worried, you have done nothing wrong. Quite the contrary I assure you.” He gave her a reassuring smile and a pat on the shoulder. “You see, I couldn’t help but asking my colleagues about the students roaming the castle, and your name was mentioned quite a bid and with much praise,” he chuckled before continuing, “I’ve heard these kinds of stories before, and thought to myself: ‘no need to get all excited Horace, before you have had the chance to evaluate the girl yourself’. But I must say, Ms. Granger, you have surpassed every high expectation I had,” he gave her a happy smile and looked immensely proud of himself. “Now to the matter at hand, I hold these special parties for a select few individuals, and I would very much like you to join the Slug Club. Your friend, Mr. Potter, has already accepted his invitation,” he looked at her expectantly and Hermione was at a loss for words. She had not expected this. He had taken her by surprise. “You don’t have to answer right away, of course. Just think about it, yes? I shall send a more formal invitation soon. Now, off you go, I’m sure you have a lot to do.” Hermione nodded, murmured her farewell and left the room and the dungeons. She disliked the dungeons.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Draco</strong>
</p><p>The potionslab had been filled with her. It had felt like walking into a wall – the moment he stepped inside the room he had breathed her in. Well not only her, but it had been the dominating scent. Along the roses and summer rain there had been the smell of books, lemon tea, and the expensive broomswax from Quality Quidditch Supplies. She had eagerly answered Slughorn’s questions not even pausing to breathe. She had identified the reason the room smelled so divine: Amortentia. As she mentioned what she could smell, she suddenly came to a halt, stopping mid-sentence. She had smelled something more, something she didn’t want the rest of the class to know. Draco wondered what it could be. Granger took a step back, brushing her shoulder against him, making his heart flipflop in his chest and sending warmth through his system. Draco relished in the innocent and accidental touch (though he made sure his walls were still up, and his face would give nothing away), she soon scurried away like she had been burned. Draco guessed it was a natural reaction since he had made his opinions about her known in their earlier years. Still, he had felt slightly hurt by her reaction; he wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch her skin.</p><p>It had been maddening to breathe her in like this, and he could barely concentrate on the potion. The periwinkle box had stirred, shaking, and demanding him to open it, but he pushed it away, he had to push her away. He needed to concentrate, he needed to win the bottle of Felix Felicis. It was his only chance to succeed. He had no other choice.<br/>
Scarface had won the desired bottle of liquid luck. <em>How the Hell did he manage that? He has never possessed a talent for potionmaking! </em>His potions had always been of mediocre quality – not a disaster like Finnigan’s potions exploding in his face, or useless like Longbottom’s often turned out to be – only ever mildly effective. And suddenly he produces a perfect Draught of the Living Death? Draco sneered at the thought. His own potion had only been acceptable, but not nearly as potent as that blasted potion Potter had produced. <em>I’ll be damned if he manages to surpass me. Bloody Hell, I would rather take a walk into an Acromantula’s nest than having him besting me. There’s no bloody way I’ll let that happen, </em>he thought angrily. Not even Granger had produced a perfect potion. Which had made the whole thing even more unbearable. He would simply have to do better.</p><p>A week later Draco had breakfast in the Great Hall. Beside him sat Crabbe and Goyle – they had been insufferable, clinging to Draco like he was water and they were dying of thirst. Draco figured their fathers had asked them to stay close to Draco, as they were Death Eaters – both of them had made an appearance at the Manor during the summer. It was the only explanation to why they had suddenly become early birds – usually they slept in like the Gryffindors. Draco tried to ignore Crabbe and Goyle, neither had become smarter or more insightful during the years, and continued to eat his breakfast, consisting of toast, eggs, and baked beans and drinking his lemon tea while reading a book. He was, despite the poor company, in high spirits this morning. The day before he had received a missive from the owner of Borgin and Burkes informing him, that he had procured a set of vanishing cabinets, twins! How lucky. Though one of them was broken and needed to be fixed. <em>No matter, Hogwarts has a vast library, I’m sure they have a book about how to repair a vanishing cabinet. </em>One of the cabinets would be send to Hogwarts in a couple of days. He had a plan on how to succeed his mission.<br/>
An unknown black and grey owl soared above Draco’s head and dropped a brown envelope in his lap. It was addressed with a pompous handwriting, almost calligraphy. Curiously, Draco opened the letter.</p><p>
  <em>Dear Mr. Malfoy,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I would be most delighted if you would join myself and a select group of students to a little get together, I’m hosting this next Saturday at 7 pm.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I hope you shall accept this invitation and join the Slug Club.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sincerely,<br/>
Horace Slughorn</em>
</p><p>“There comes the filthy Mudblood,” Goyle spat in a hushed voice and jabbed Draco in the ribs with his elbow in order to gain his attention.</p><p>He had to keep up appearances. He couldn’t raise suspicion. He had to keep up appearances. Draco was still seeker on the Slytherin Quidditch team, he was still a prefect, still achieved high marks – maintaining his second place, right behind Granger, and now a member of the Slug Club. Because he had to keep up appearances. And keeping up appearances meant that he had to keep up the lie how he felt about Granger, and every other Muggle-born. Especially in front of other people – Crabbe and Goyle could run back home and tell unfortunate tales of the newest Death Eater being a Mudblood sympathiser. So, Draco raised his head from the letter and followed Goyle’s gaze. Granger had just entered the Great Hall, nose deep in a book, and headed for Gryffindor table which was empty as Gryffindors usually slept in.</p><p>“Shame she wasn’t kept petrified along the other Mudbloods,” Draco sneered, and he hated using that word. To his own ears he sounded insincere, but the big oafs swallowed it up, almost licking from his hands and nodded vigorously and their eyes shone like beads. Crabbe licked his lips before adding how much he would enjoy making the little bush scream in pain. Draco could feel his hackles rise; and it took every ounce of selfcontrol he had not to punch Crabbe in the face and curse him off the earth’s surface. <em>I have to keep up the appearance, keep up the lie. </em>“That would be rather fun,” he said instead. “I have to go,” Draco muttered as he stood up rather abruptly. He turned on his heels and left the Great Hall, not waiting to hear if Crabbe and Goyle had an answer for him. He heard them scramble to their feet trying to catch up to him.</p><p>“Malfoy, wait up!” He heard them call out to him, but he kept walking, taking long strides and before long he had successfully shaken them off, a feat not too difficult as Draco had longer legs and was in better shape than them.</p><p>His good mood was positively ruined, and Draco had a sour taste in his mouth.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Hermione </strong>
</p><p><em>This will be the year it happens, </em>she thought as she sat besides Ron in the Great Hall for lunch on a dull Monday. That night she had dreamt of summersun on her face, smelling the summer and the air, seeing flashes of red and blue, and sweet kisses which left a taste of blackberries in her mouth. <em>Yes, this will be the year I finally kiss him.</em> Ron caught Hermione stare at him and gave her a small smile, showing of his dimples. Hermione smiled back shyly, and under the table Hermione could feel Ron’s fingers tentatively touching hers, shyly gripping them. All the while Ron kept eye contact, and she could she how nervous he was, he swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bopped. Hermione blushed, felt the heat creep up her neck and warming her face and she returned his touch, slipping her fingers between his and their fingers were entwined. His face split in a grin and his blue eyes were alight with happiness. She felt her heart hammer away in her chest and she was happy as well. <em>Finally! </em>For several years there had been something between them, a tension, or expectation. And now it seemed relieved. The tension was still there but not as thick as before. Averting her eyes, suddenly too shy to keep his gaze but fingers still entwined, she smiled at her lap. Harry sat opposite them eating a sandwich while reading in his potions book completely oblivious to his surroundings. The sight was odd, Harry had never been one to read something that wasn’t homework or the Marauders Map. Hermione furrowed her brows but wasn’t about to stop him. truly, it was nice to see Harry taking his academics seriously. Ron devoured his lunch and soon the hand which was entwined with his began to feel sweaty and uncomfortably warm. Ron, however, didn’t seem to notice. He just tightened his grip, when Hermione tried to let some air in between their hands in order to cool herself down. She just tried to ignore it. Perhaps she should bring Ron to Slughorn’s party Saturday? It would be nice to have him there, kickstart their relationship a bit. She had received the formal invitation last week, just as Slughorn had promised. He had a beautiful handwriting, though perhaps a bit pompous. She could hardly say no, when she had been handpicked by a professor, marking her as something special. She wondered who, besides Harry, would be a member of the infamous Slug Club. Apparently, the professor had held these kinds of parties before, when he was last employed at Hogwarts, and almost each and every former member of the Slug Club had achieved some kind of great achievement. So, Hermione had been flattered that he saw such potential in her. She tried to pick up her courage, pushing away her shyness, to ask Ron to be her date, and, as she was about to open her mouth to ask the question, Harry looked up and started to talk about Quidditch and the try outs. Ron, loving Quidditch as much as Harry, eagerly replied and made his opinion known of the potential of each and every team, which soon evolved into strategies – a lengthy and tedious conversation at best.</p><p>
  <em>I’ll just try later then.</em>
</p><p>“I’ll see you later,” she said to both boys. “We can talk later?” she whispered low enough for only Ron to hear when she leaned forward to grab her bag. As she stood, she saw that Ron nodded at her, a sweet smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. As she left the Great Hall her spirits were high and a smile on her face. She all but skipped to her next class.</p><p>Later that day, Hermione and the Gryffindors had Defence Against the Dark Arts with Slytherin. Snape, despite him having acquired the much sought-after position as Defence Against the Dar Arts professor, was in a foul mood that Monday. More so than usual. He snapped more than usual. Neville, who was nervous around Snape on the best of days, was pale and stiff as a board. Better to be stiff than shaking. Normally, Snape was mean, but today he was outright cruel; snarling at Seamus when he asked a question, claiming loudly how stupid and incompetent he was, and then deduced Gryffindor of twenty points. Nobody dared to utter a word after that, not even the Slytherins. Seamus spent the rest of the class glaring daggers at the professor. The lesson was almost over when he surprised them by announcing they would do a cross subject project with potions.</p><p>“Professor Slughorn and I will do a project together as potions and defence against the dark arts often go hand in hand. You will work in pairs of two and will be selecting a curse. You will then brew potion to act as a countercurse OR to lessen the curse’s effect,” Snape said slowly, as they were idiots. “You will be given ten weeks which should be enough time to research, prepare ingredients and brew a potion, meaning your deadline is mid-December. It should be sufficient time for some of the more complex potions. Don’t disappoint us by bringing something easy like a healing potion.” He gave Ron and Neville a nasty glare. He procured a piece of folded parchment from his robes, unfolded it and began to read. “Mr. Potter and Mr. Zabini, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Longbottom,” his tone was monotonous, “Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Granger,” Snape drawled, a funny glint in his eyes, one Hermione had never seen before, and she thought it a bit weird how the tone in his voice had changed. Hermione didn’t hear the rest of the list. She dug the heels of her hands into her eyes and groaned and then pulled at her hair. The next several weeks would be in the company of Malfoy. She chanced a glance at Malfoy, who sat just behind her to her right, he sat back in the stool nonchalantly, pale and with purple bags under his eyes. He looked exhausted. <em>At least Malfoy is competent</em>. A part of her mind already contemplated which curse and potion to use. “You will have access to the restricted section on order to help your research. Class dismissed,” Snape snapped at the class, turned on his heels and stormed of to his office, the black robes flowing behind him.<em> Harry is right, he does look like a bat, </em>Hermione mused. Packing up her quill, parchment, and book she sought out Malfoy. The needed to discuss and plan what to do. He was already a good distance away, his long strides making it impossible for Hermione to reach him by walking. She ran the distance.</p><p>“Malfoy wait up!” she called. He threw her a glance over her shoulder, and surprisingly slowed down a bit.</p><p>“What do you want, Granger?”</p><p>“I thought we could discuss when we have time to work on this project,” she said, furrowing her brows. “I’ll be damned if I fail this assignment just because you couldn’t be bothered!” She said heatedly. There was no chance in Hell she would fail this! She had never failed a class before, not even that wannabe subject Divination. He looked taken aback by her outburst.</p><p>“Calm your knickers, Granger. I don’t plan to fail this either,” he sniffed. <em>Arrogant git! </em>Hermione ground her teeth.</p><p>“Great, then we agree on something,” she bit out.</p><p>“So it seems.”</p><p>“So, if we could coordinate prefect duties to be at the same time, we could have more time to work on this,” she mused aloud.</p><p>“Fine. I have Quidditch on Tuesdays and Thursdays, from 6 pm to 8 pm. I have a free period from 10 am to lunch every Friday. Will this work for you?” Hermione blinked. She hadn’t expected him to be so compliant. She had expected him to whine or be reluctant to work with her. She could handle that, but this. This made her jittery. She had been quiet for too long, and Malfoy gave her an odd look as he stopped walking and raised an elegant brow at her. She blushed and averted her eyes.</p><p>“Uhm yes yes, it’s fine,” she murmured, feeling incredibly stupid. Snape’s lesson had been the last period for her, and, seeing as Malfoy had an identical schedule, plucked up her Gryffindor courage. “Perhaps we should start today? Get a head start.” She bit her bottom lip. “If you have time, of course,” she added with a nervous laugh.</p><p>“Fine, meet me in the library in an hour.” He walked away in long, confident strides. Hermione was left, staring at his retreating back, wondering just what had happened, feeling like it had been too easy to make him comply. Still feeling confused, she headed towards Gryffindor tower, wanting to take a cooling shower before meeting with Malfoy.</p><p>The shower did little to help her soothe her nerves. Very little in this world could rattle Hermione but working with Malfoy for several weeks would be challenging. He had hated her for years. It would be a miracle if they would come out on the other side without having cursed each other. She fully expected the two of them to bud heads on more than one occasion. As she prepared to leave for the library, Ron caught her hand, pulling her with him into a more secluded corner of the Common Room. He gave her a look full of expectations. He tugged away a stray curl behind her ear, so gently, and the he leaned down and hesitantly covered her lips with his own. This was it. She had waited for this moment since the end of their third year. She had dreamt of this for so many years, had fantasied about how it would feel, how her head would spin, and fairies would flutter in her stomach.</p><p>And it felt wrong. <em>Can’t be perfect without practise. </em>Gently Hermione broke of the kiss. Ron gave her a quizzical look. She was running late for her appointment with Malfoy by a couple of minutes, the shower had taken longer than expected (she had needed more time to calm her nerves), and it made her jump from leg to leg and wrench her hands in front of her.</p><p>“What’s wrong? Weren’t we supposed to talk?” He furrowed his brow.</p><p>“Yes, but I have an appointment with Malfoy-“</p><p>“Are you ditching me for that ferret?” indignation clear in his voice. The tip of his ears were slightly red and his lips pressed in a tight line, fists clenched at his side, and his eyes were ablaze. <em>How dare he be angry! It’s not like I planned this to happen.</em></p><p>“Ronald! It’s not like it’s for pleasure, it’s for school!” It seemed to cool him down somewhat. Hermione gave him a glare and folded her arms across her chest. He offered her a sheepish smile as an apology. “We’ll talk later, promise.”</p><p>She stood on tiptoes and pecked him on the mouth before dashing out of the portrait hole and scurrying to the library, her palms sweaty and heart hammering.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Draco</strong>
</p><p>“What the bloody Hell was that!? Pairing me of with Granger when you <em>know </em>how dangerous it is for her! Have you gone mad!?” Draco snarled – roared – at the black clad professor in front of him and slammed his hands on the desk in front of him. Though terribly rude to address his professor this way, it was unheard of and Draco could risk detention and his removal as prefect. Draco even expected a detention. Though they had built a… companionship – a friendship it most definitely was not – during the months in which Snape had taught Occlumency, Draco had no expectation of getting of easy. He braced himself for the rebuke he, surely, was about to endure. Snape seemed completely unfaced by Draco’s angry outburst, merely sipping his tea and raising an eyebrow.</p><p>“Are you quite finished behaving like a spoiled brat?” Draco’s hackles only rising as a result. “Control your emotions,” Snape snapped at him, “your thoughts are screaming at me.” Draco swallowed, took several deep breaths, trying to rise his mental walls again and slacked in the chair opposite Snape. They had slipped when he had stormed into Snape’s office a few minutes earlier. He had barely knocked on the door, and hadn’t waited to be invited, having flung the door open and storming into his gloomy office. “Professor Slughorn insisted that the two of you be put together,” was all Snape had to say. Draco scowled at him. Snape sat in his burgundy armchair, his table in front of him was neatly organized: at one corner was the writing supplies, just below were a neat stack of essays, waiting to be graded or to be given back, directly in front of Snape stood his tea set of tin. But what caught Draco’s attention was the small bouquet of white lilies at the corner furthest away from Draco. He would never had believed that Snape, the tall, dark, and gloomy man, would enjoy flowers. The mere thought made Draco blink. “If that was all,” Snape got Draco’s attention, “then get. Out.” His tone was not one to argue with, every word uttered with careful pronunciation, putting pressure on the consonants giving the words a threatening edge. Draco had noticed the foul mood Snape was in, but for a short amount of the time he hadn’t cared. Now, having once again regained control of his emotions, he saw the thunderclouds in the other man’s eyes, how they screamed murder, and how his lips were pulled down in an odd grimace one might would think was sadness. He stood stiffly, nodding at the professor, muttered an apology he didn’t mean under his breath, and left the office. He headed towards the library in long strides, breathing in through his nose and exhaling through his mouth, reinforcing his mental shields. <em>This can not happen again.</em></p><p>He sat at their favourite table, waiting for her. The library was filled with students, but none were in the secluded corner which they preferred. The weather had been bleak in the morning and it hadn’t changed. Fat water droplets poured from a dark grey sky. <em>Good thing I’m not a Hufflepuff, getting soaked to the bones. I wonder if they have just skipped practice all together? </em>Draco sighed and leaned back in the chair. Checking his watch his brow furrowed. She was running late, something unusual for her. <em>Odd.</em> He was annoyed. She had suggested they start today after all! And now she was running rather late. Seven minutes. Draco suspected he looked like a thundercloud. His fingers drummed on the table, his mouth twitching. His annoyance grew with each passing second. A second glance at his watch told him, that she was now fifteen minutes late, and, just as he started to scowl at the air, she rounded the corner, looking frazzled and out of air: her hair was untamed, cascading down her shoulders living its own life, her cheeks coloured a pretty red, bottom lip caught between her teeth, and chest heaving a little bit.</p><p>“Finally,” he drawled. “You know, I have better use of my time than waiting around for you.” The words came out hard and he fixed her with an angry scowl.</p><p>“Sorry, something held me,” she breathed out, looking guilty as she gave him an apologetic half smile. “It won’t happen again, I promise,” she said and drew a cross above her heart. The simple action confused him. <em>What was that about? </em>Seeing his perplexed facial expression, she gave him a shy, careful laugh. “Muggle thing.”</p><p>“Whatever,” he dismissed. “Just don’t be late again.”</p><p>“I already promised, Malfoy, it won’t happen again,” she said in an annoyed tone. “I thought we could use the time today to agree on a curse, and perhaps agree on an appropriate potion to brew.” Her tone was light, all annoyance forgotten has the wheels in her head began to spin. “I have already given it some thought,” Granger continued, a positively dreamy expression on her face, “and thought that perhaps a powerful acid curse and an antidote would be a good way to go. Not too easy but not impossible either.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“No? what do you mean, ‘no’?”</p><p>“I mean,” he said slowly lest he insulted her, “it’s too easy. Where’s the fun in that?” She looked at him like he had sprouted horns. He knew an antidote to the acid hex was difficult and it would need the better part of two months to brew leaving no room for mistakes, and it was well beyond six or even seventh year level. I was fairly ambitious. But Draco was nothing but extremely ambitious, and he felt like they could do better. “Look, Granger, you’re the brightest witch of our age, surely you can do better than an antidote,” he said, talking to her intellectual vanity, and he meant the compliment (but she didn’t need to know that). She chewed her lip and looked thoughtful. He wished she would stop chewing on that lip, though. He wanted to kiss her lips, not watching her chew bottom lip off.</p><p>“What do you propose then?” She fixed her eyes on his, the caramel and gold glinted in the light. She quirked an eyebrow.</p><p>“I’ll tell you what, we search the library today, and if we don’t find anything suitable, we’ll do your plan, yes?”</p><p>“Fine.” Smirking, Draco got up and started to search the library for something that could beat Granger’s idea.</p><p>They searched for the better part of two hours and was about to give up, when Draco found a book, hidden away deep into the restricted section. It was old, the leather dry, and the printing had faded, but the title was still visible in the leather.</p><p>The pages were frail and yellowed by age, some places the ink was smeared in some places, making it difficult to read the text. It was complicated to say the least.</p><p>“Hey Granger, I think I found something,” Draco called. It was perfect.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I would like to hear your guesses as to why Snape was in such a foul mood. </p><p>Thank you for reading.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Essence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I struggled quite a bit with this chapter. As much as I would like the story to move forward, I would hate if I rushed it.<br/>I might go back later and change a few things, as I am not completely satisfied with how this turned out.</p><p>Thank you for reading.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Hermione </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Essence of Life.</em>
</p><p>She had never seen – not even heard – of such a potion before. It was complex to say the least, she mused as her eyes scanned the instructions on how to brew it. More complex than the Polyjuice Potion she had brewed in her second year. The Polyjuice seemed like a walk in the park compared to this monstrosity. Two months to brew, multiple steps which could go terribly wrong. She had had this book in her hands before. Or at least a different edition. This seemed like a first edition of <em>Moste Potente Potions, </em>several hundreds of years old, dating back to the middle ages. As her eyes wandered the ingredients list her eyes narrowed. <em>Merlin’s beard! Fairy wings, mandrake root… Phoenix tears!<br/>
</em>She had thought him mad when he had suggested something more complex than the acid antidote.<br/>
She knew he had manipulated her, when he had spoken of her intellect, she knew Malfoy had tried to bend her to his will. Had it been Harry or Ron suggesting something harder, she would refuse, because she knew she would have to do the majority of the work. But Malfoy was intelligent, receiving high marks, and more importantly; he had a knack for potions. She had agreed to his plan because she was curious; would there be a more complex – but still doable – potion? Truth be told, the challenge excited her. And so, she had agreed to his compromise. She hadn’t expected to find anything (she had searched the library thoroughly finding absolutely nothing of interest – perhaps some ancient runes describing the magic the Vikings had used in order to communicate with each other during raids, but this was not the time for that), and she had been surprised when had called out. Hermione had thought the potion to be agreeable if not for the rare ingredients.</p><p>“And how are we supposed to gain these ingredients? Some of the are extremely rare,” Hermione said, narrowing her eyes at Malfoy. “I’ve never even <em>seen </em>Phoenix tears.” She stomped her foot for emphasis. How the bloody Hell were they supposed to get that? And with such limited time. They had less than two weeks to gather all of these ingredients as the potion needed so much time to brew. Her gaze left Malfoy and flickered down to the page in her hand and she read on.</p><p>
  <em>Essence of Life</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The position will not prolong the life of thee, such a feat is impossible unless one knows the Elixir of Life, and this position should not be used as such. The potion will save thee from all curse known to man by supplying thee with essence of life.<br/>
Heed this warning: if the potion is used on an uncursed, thee shall have thine life essence drained.</em>
</p><p><em>One dragon liver of 600 grams cut into cubes with the length of 1,2 centrimeters with a cobber knife</em>.</p><p><em>Two dried dandelion roots cut into slices with a thickness of 0,5 centimetre</em>.</p><p><em>Ten grams of anjelica herb, foraged in the moonlight by a silver knife</em>.</p><p><em>Two sundried asophdel flowers</em>.</p><p><em>Twelve beetle eyes grinded to a smooth mush</em>.</p><p>
  <em>Juice from four boom berries. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fifteen crushed fairy wings. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ten bloomed fluxweed plants foraged with a steel knife.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Three Phoenix tears.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>One fresh mandrake root.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>One unicorn hair.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>To brew this potion, thee shall need:</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A pewter cauldron.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A copper cauldron.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A mortar and pestle.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A spoon of oak.</em>
</p><p>“I mean, some of these ingredients are fairly easy to acquire, but how are we supposed to get fairy wings, a mature mandrake root in such a sort amount of time, and Phoenix tears?”</p><p>“Don’t get your knickers into a knot Granger,” Malfoy sniffed. “I have connections.” He smirked confidently. “I’ll need few days, but I’m sure I can procure the ingredients which are out of season and the rarer ingredients,” he said and smiled a lopsided smile. A true smile and it lit op his pale face and made his grey eyes look like molten silver. He raised his chin, nose in the air, giving him a more arrogant air though the smile was just as true as before.</p><p>Hermione would never admit it, but he had a beautiful smile.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Draco</strong>
</p><p>He was exhausted. Every spare minute he had was spent on the mission he had received from the Dark Lord. He kept up appearances, and it meant that time was not at his disposal. Staying up late into the night and getting up before dawn to research, both academic research but also researching the vanishing cabinets. And the term had barely begun. Looking at the vanishing cabinet in front of him he scowled.</p><p><em>I hate that fucking thing! </em>He wanted nothing more than to use an Incendio on the blasted thing and watch it turn to a pile of ash at his feet. He had kept his plan to himself, not wanting to raise expectations if he didn’t succeed, imagining the punishment would be severe if he was to disappoint. He was a Slytherin after all. If the fucking cabinet had been his only headache it wouldn’t be so bad. But no, the cabinet was a walk in the park considered the problem which gave him a migraine and stole away his sleep. <em>How am I supposed to kill Dumbledore? He is one of the most powerful wizards alive. </em>The task was impossible. Not even Voldemort had succeeded. How was he, a student, supposed to succeed? The answer was simple: he was supposed to fail. This was a suicide mission and Draco knew it. But if he refused the Dark Lord would kill Mother. <em>If I try he might spare her. </em>Frustrated he ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it up. <em>I suppose I shouldn’t have expected it work already. It would have been too good to be true. I’ve only had the fucking piece of shit for almost two weeks. </em>The rational side of his brain argued that there was no reason to be frustrated as he had barely begun to work on the cabinet, the other side of him, the scared side, just wanted it to work, to get this mission over and done with. He wanted the heavy weight removed from his shoulders so he could breathe freely again. But it was too early to panic. As it was, Draco still had the better part of a year to fulfil this task. Willing himself to breathe, to <em>relax</em>, he checked his watch. In about thirty minutes Draco was supposed to be attending the party Slughorn threw. Sighing deeply, he got up. <em>Have to keep up appearances, can’t raise suspicion. </em>He would take a quick shower, hoping the water would cleanse him, if but for a minute. He quickly left the Come and Go Room, time was not on his side.</p><p>Standing outside the door of Professor Slughorn’s office at precisely 7 pm, Draco fixed his robes, before walking in. Slughorn had enchanted his office bigger in order to fit in the big oval table of oak tree. Around the room stood several students, some he knew – like Granger, Scarface, McLaggen, and Zabini – but others were strangers to him. The students were spread around the room, standing in small clusters and conversing, and some were holding welcoming drinks. The room was decorated lightly with gold ornaments hanging from the ceiling. On the table stood to golden candelabras, dividing the table in three equally big sections. At one end stood an impressive stool – it was richly decorated with cuttings of snakes and poppy flowers, and the cushioning was a rich green – which Draco assumed to be Slughorn’s.</p><p>“Ah Mr. Malfoy! Your timing is impeccable. Why, I had just announced that dinner was about to be served,” Slughorn boomed and had a jolly smile on his face. “Please, everyone, do be seated!”</p><p>The students gathered around the table, seven on each side and one at the end across from Slughorn’s impressive chair. Granger walked over to a chair. She had her wild curls down, letting them roam freely past her shoulders, and he thought it looked glorious. She wore a knee length dress with sleeves in a colour a mix between pink and violet. He wished it was blue though. He took a quick decision and seated himself to her right – on her left sat Potter, looking possibly dreamy at the youngest Weasley sitting across from him. Granger stiffened when he sat down, and he ignored her. She couldn’t know the feelings which coursed through his body, she couldn’t know the way his heart fluttered. But that didn’t mean he should deny himself of the simple pleasure that was her. He could already smell her delicate, clean smell. He could give himself this treat since his walls were firmly in place. Apparently working with Granger every day wasn’t enough. <em>I’m a greedy man</em>.  Draco had got a reply back from his Mother, that she had gotten the ingredients he – they – needed. She would send them to him Monday. They had spend the rest of the week gathering some of the ingredients for the potion, only speaking to one another when necessary. Draco sensed she felt uncomfortable in his presence – her back was always ramrod straight, her jaw slightly clenched, and her petite shoulders squared, almost like she was bracing herself. Still Draco enjoyed her company. Draco already dreaded the time afterwards – he suspected his days would be lonely. <em>Merlin, it’s only been a week. Pull yourself together!<br/>
</em>The first dish was served: scallops with peas, pee shots, ricotta, and parmesan cheese. It tastes delicious, making his taste buds sing. Slughorn addressed some of the other students, and Draco noticed they had something in common: either their parents or a relative was famous. <em>Sneaky old bastard, improving his own social circle</em>. Draco couldn’t help but be impressed. It was rather ingenious, which also explained why Draco was there; though the Malfoys had fallen from grace, it still was a powerful name and still very influential. But how do one explain Granger, then? As far as Draco knew, her parents were ordinary Muggles, admittingly he didn’t know much about them. So the dinner went on, a new dish served (lamb with a herb crust, some kind of herb roasted potatoes, and a red wine sauce) and Slughorn prattled on and on, gaining intelligence on who was still in contact with their famous relatives.</p><p><em>This is a waste of time. </em>Right now, Draco wanted to leave. The conversation was boring, and he had other things to tend to. He sighed. He could have worked on the cabinet. Or laying some sort of plan on how to commit murder (the thought made a lump appear in Draco’s throat). Sitting here, next to Granger, breathing in her scent, did little to soothe his worries. Perhaps it would have worked better sitting across from her?</p><p>“So, Ms. Granger, what does your parents do in the Muggle world?” Slughorn leaned forward in his seat, seemingly very curious about the answer. He smiled encouragingly at her.</p><p>“My parents are dentists.” She had said it like it was a very natural thing, as if everybody knew what a dentist was. <em>What the bloody Hell is a dentist? </em>Draco could see Potter trying to hold back a laugh – his green eyes bulged out at the effort of containing the laugh – as the very confused witches and wizards gave Granger their full attention. Even Draco had turned his head. Granger seemed to notice the confusion. “They tend to people’s teeth,” she explained, looking uncomfortable, squirming in her seat. <em>Tend to people’s teeth? What in Merlin’s name was that kind of a job? </em>Draco thought that it sounded rather disgusting, having their fingers in other people’s mouths. Slughorn, however, seemed fascinated.</p><p>“Is that considered a dangerous job?” Potter broke down in hysteric giggles, trying to hide it by coughing into his napkin violently. Nobody seemed to notice though.</p><p>“No,” Granger answered, chewing her lip, “although sometimes the children bites them.” Draco had to blink at that information. Children biting an adult because they were dentists? He didn’t know how it worked in reality, but he had pictures in his head nonetheless, and they only raised more questions.</p><p>“Fascinating,” Slughorn said, and it truly sounded like he meant it. Fascinating was perhaps not the word Draco would have chosen. More like confusing, or weird. Maybe even savage. <em>Children biting adults? </em>He couldn’t wrap his head around it. It was just so very odd.</p><p>She didn’t say a word the rest of the evening.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Hermione </strong>
</p><p>Hermione had planned on bringing Ron as her date to Slughorn’s party.</p><p>They had shared a few more kisses; hesitant and shy as they were, sweet and innocent. He had tugged her along to a secluded corridor when Harry had been busy with reading his potions book, small stolen moments. Ron had looked at Hermione with such tenderness it had made her knees feel weak. He had lifted his hand, and ever so gently traced his finger down her chin, touching her bottom lip, tracing the outline of it, before cupping her cheek and leaning down to capture her lips with his own. It had been better than their first kiss. Ron would look so happy after every kiss, Hermione couldn’t help but try to match his happiness, not wishing to ruin his mood. She had wanted to ask him to join her to the party, but every time an opportunity would present itself, something always happened. Tuesday Ron had snuck of to observe the Slytherin Quidditch team train by borrowing Harry’s invisibility cloak (she and Malfoy had worked in the library until he had to go in order to find a curse), Wednesday had Harry and Ron training – he had joined the team, Hermione had observed the try outs and she was so happy for him – and Hermione had prefect duties after their training was complete. Thursday was a repeat of Tuesday except that Malfoy had announced that he had procured the rare (and most likely very expensive) ingredients. Friday had been spent around Hogwarts grounds gathering ingredients. Right after their last lesson, Hermione had met with Malfoy in the Great Hall. They had, without a word to each other, walked out to the Hogwarts grounds, and Hermione had been sure to keep her distance from him. It was late afternoon, giving them but a few hours to find the ingredients before dinner would be served. They headed towards the greenhouses. Professor Sprout had at the beginning of the term taught them about the qualities of fluxweed, and some of the students had even managed to grow some. As Hermione shared herbology with the Ravenclaws, she only knew of herself, Neville, Dean Thomas and a couple of Ravenclaws who had managed to make the plant grow and bloom. Malfoy informed her, that he too had managed, thus securing them enough blooming fluxweed plants. Malfoy had brought the steel knife which he cut the stems in a quick, fluent motion. Hermione had put the plants – after charming the plants to stay fresh – in a separate bag, just for their foraging purpose. They had spent quite a lot of time searching for the asophdel tree, and even longer finding a tree still in bloom. So long, that dinner was about to be served. But they had found it, and the lily-like flowers, all silver white and delicate, were beautiful. Hermione had plucked the flowers and using the same charm on them as she had used on the fluxweed, pocketed them. They had returned to Hogwarts to eat, and then wait for the moon to arise. They had gotten a note from Slughorn, allowing them to up after curfew in order to find the needed ingredient. They had searched the grounds thoroughly and not found a single anjelica herb anywhere. They had started to search of the grounds then, and Hermione had found the desires plant at the edge of the forbidden forest. The moonlight shone on her, making it a bit easier to see. She foraged the plant, using the silver knife while the moonlight touched the plant. They had only uttered few words between them when they had found what they had been looking for. Hermione had appreciated the quiet. He hadn’t been cruel, hadn’t mocked her, hadn’t even insulted her a single time.<br/>
And then came Saturday and Ron and Harry had their Quidditch debut for this season – although Quidditch was a waste of time (truly, fourteen people flying around, Hermione couldn’t fathom a bigger waste of time) she had attended every game since first year as Harry was her friend and she supported him, and last year Ron had joined the team and she would attend to support both of them instead of only one. She simply hadn’t had the opportunity to ask him to join her.</p><p>Sitting around the dinner table in Slughorn’s office, with elegant gold decorations, Hermione ate her food in silence. She didn’t want to share more about her parents when Malfoy was sitting right beside her. Merlin knew what he would use that information for. Probably taunting her or something like that at the first given opportunity. <em>Better to keep my mouth shut. </em>When Harry had started to laugh, she had jabbed him in the side with her elbow rather brutally, which had made him realise that laughter was not appropriate at the moment, and he had tried to conceal his laughter by coughing – and failed miserably. She only whispered quietly to Harry from time to time, commenting on the food, the decorations, the conversations around her, low enough so that Malfoy wouldn’t hear. Harry didn’t seem to listen; her bespectacled friend had his eyes glued on the redhead opposite him. Ginny looked marvellous in her knee length forest green dress, making her stand out. And her hair was beautiful – it shone like newly polished copper. Hermione tugged a strand of her own hair behind her ear – feeling the curl and texture between her thumb and index finger, wishing, not for the first time, that her hair could be a little more like Ginny’s. When she was younger, both in primary school and the first couple of years at Hogwarts, she had been bullied because of her frizzy, wild hair. They had called her a bush, a troll, bird’s nest, and each and every tease had made Hermione feel uneasy about her hair. She just concentrated on her food, wishing she had just asked Ron in the small stolen moments with the shy kisses he would have been able to make her feel better.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Hermione </strong>
</p><p>It was finally time to start the potion. By Sunday they had all the ingredients needed. Each pair had been given a classroom in which they could control the environment – some potions needed to be brewed in moonshine, others needed a room temperature above 40 degrees Celsius, and so on. Malfoy and Hermione had been given a classroom on the second floor. From the windows one could see the Black Lake and the edge of the forbidden forest. In the horizon, beyond the lake, Hermione could see the mountains. She had always loved the mountains surrounding the castle. Hermione let her bag fall to the floor. Turning around and away from the windows Hermione saw Malfoy depositing his bag and put a big copper cauldron on the hard, stone floor. Hermione found the book from her bag. The frail old thing looked like it would fall apart if she breathed on it. She opened the book where the bookmark indicated the instructions for the potion was. Malfoy had littered out the ingredients on the floor in the order which they were needed – the dragon liver was put under a stasis charm, preserving it until it would be needed (quite like a Muggle refrigerator, Hermione mused making her smile to herself). Glancing down the book Hermione held in her hands, she read the instructions for the first part of the potion carefully.</p><p>
  <em>To brew the Essence of Life thee shall follow instructions carefully. Anything but necessary spells shall sour the potion. Be warned; a single mistake shall ruin the potion and turn it to poison which shall be followed by the grip of Death.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Part one</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Lower the room temperature to 5 degrees Celsius.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Heat up the copper cauldron.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Add the juice from four boom berries.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Add half the fluxweed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stir seven times clockwise.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Let simmer two hours on medium heat.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stir seven times counterclockwise – the potion will turn bright red.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Let simmer for seventy minutes.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Heat up the room temperature to 40 degrees Celsius.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wave the wand above the cauldron, turning the concoction midnight blue.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Let simmer for twenty hours</em>
</p><p>The sheer number of steps could be the cause of any number of mistakes. And the number of times they needed to stir the potion was another trap. Hermione didn’t like the warning. If they miscounted even once it could prove to be catastrophic. She read the instruction again. And again. <em>This is going to require our outmost attention. And not much time to organize S.P.E.W, </em>she thought with a heavy heart. Madame Pince had refused to let her leave some flyers in the library, she had almost looked insulted at the mere suggestion that something besides books and students were allowed in her precious library. Hermione had been disappointed. She had really hoped that the strict librarian would have allowed her this, seeing as Hermione always treated the books with great care and respect, always placed the books in their proper places, and always kept her voice down. She had frequented the library ever since her first day at Hogwarts and she would always find time to wander down the aisles searching for something to read. She would have to put S.P.E.W on hold or tone it down quite a bid, at least until they had finished this potion.</p><p>“… ok?” She was startled out of her thoughts.</p><p>“What?” she asked, not having heard the question. Malfoy rolled his eyes at her.</p><p>“May I see the book?”</p><p>“Oh, yes sure, of course,” she flushed, afraid she had might given him opportunity to mock her. She handed him the book and he accepted it. She noticed he had long fingers, and something silver caught her eyes as it glinted in the sunlight. On his thumb was a silver ring with an emerald green disc embroidered with an elaborate M in silver. It was a simple piece of jewellery and far less pompous than she had thought a Malfoy heirloom would be. <em>He has really elegant fingers. </em>Hermione blinked at her thought and pushed it away – it didn’t matter if he had long, elegant fingers, he was still a bully. His gaze wandered down the pages, his blond hair falling into his eyes. Hermione grabbed her wand and started to wave it in an intricate pattern, doing the spell nonverbally (the spell was not a part of Hogwarts pensum, and she didn’t want Malfoy to know that she knew this kind of magic) and the room started to cool. Soon it was the required 5 degrees Celsius. Malfoy had started to heat up the cauldron: the potions book laying on a table. Hermione walked to the boom berries; they lay on the floor in a glass jar, the blue, strawberry shapes berries looked delicious and had the size of an orange. She opened the jar and took one berry; the flesh was firm between her fingers. With a sharp knife she poked a hole in the berry and over the cauldron, squeezing the white, sweet smelling juice out of the berry and into the cauldron. Hermione repeated the action with the rest of them, and then she grabbed the blooming fluxweed, the green plants had long stems and pretty, purple flowers, and added five into the cauldron. Malfoy stirred the stirred the cauldron seven times clockwise, counting aloud, something they had agreed upon as a safety measure. Malfoy lowered the temperature and Hermione started a timer: for the next two hours it would simmer. Hermione made herself comfortable up against a wall, leaning back she sighed. Malfoy sat down as well, facing the cauldron, and then pulled a book out of his bag, starting to read. Soon it felt very cold in the room, Hermione pulled her robes closer to her body; a heating spell could ruin the potion, and neither of them would take that chance. Hermione buried her under her armpits, trying to warm her cold fingers. Malfoy just found some expensive looking gloves in his pocket and continued to read. She didn’t like to admit it, but he seemed better prepared than she. She could have used these two hours in doing something useful; preparing the S.P.E.W-campaign, catching up on some reading, starting the essay for Professor Bins, or preparing for next months herbology assignment. Tomorrow she would be better prepared. Instead she closed her eyes, thinking back on the day before.</p><p>Ron had found her in the library after breakfast, where she sat at her favourite table, her nose buried deep into a book on the fascinating subject regarding house elf history. It was not a big book by any means, it was rather thin, only about 300 pages. People just didn’t seem to care about the house elves. Hermione only noticed the arrival of a second person when the stool had scraped lightly against the stone floor, making Hermione glance up from her book. The tall, lanky shape of Ron Weasley slumped into the chair, smiling at her. Hermione smiled back, getting the feeling he would want to talk, she closed the book on the table. He caught her hand and entwined their fingers, his hand was large, and completely engulfed her small hand.</p><p>“So, uhm, does this mean we’re a thing?” he had asked, his voice was short of a whisper, hesitant and unsure. Hermione smiled.</p><p>“Yeah, I guess it does.”</p><p>“Good, I mean great. This is great,” he laughed nervously. She gave his hand a squeeze and then opened her book and continued to read. It was quiet for several minutes. Ron’s thumb stroked small circles on the back of her hand. “So, what are you reading?”</p><p>“A Short History of the House Elf,” she answered without taking her eyes from the book in front of her.</p><p>“Still want to free them?”</p><p>“Yes, of course.”</p><p>“But why?”</p><p>“No creature should be held as slaves, Ron.” She had stopped reading, letting her gaze wander to her friend – <em>boyfriend </em>– and observed him. He still didn’t understand. Though he had signed her form, he didn’t care about the elves. He had grunted something unintelligible and then opened some sort of Quidditch magazine to read.</p><p>It saddened Hermione, that her boyfriend didn’t share her enthusiasm on the subject of house elves’ welfare. On the other hand, she didn’t share his enthusiasm for Quidditch. Perhaps it didn’t matter that Ron had no interest in house elves. She let the matter drop. Instead she read the instructions for the potion.</p><p>
  <em>Part one</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Lower the room temperature to 5 degrees Celsius.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Heat up the copper cauldron.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Add the juice from four boom berries.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Add half the fluxweed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stir seven times clockwise.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Simmer two hours on medium heat.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stir seven times counterclockwise – the potion will turn bright red.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Simmer for seventy minutes.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Heat up the room temperature to 40 degrees Celsius.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wave the wand above the cauldron, turning the concoction midnight blue.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Let simmer for twenty hours</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Part two </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Add twelve mushed beetle eyes. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stir twenty times counterclockwise</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Bring to a boil and simmer for three hours</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Cool down slowly over one hour to 42 degrees Celsius</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wave wand over concoction </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Add mandrake root</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Bring to a hard boil until concoction turns bright pink</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Cool down immediately to 30 degrees Celsius</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stir twenty-five times counterclockwise </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Bring to a boil and let simmer for ninety minutes</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stir seven times clockwise </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Let simmer for forty-eight hours, stirring once clockwise every twelve hours.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Part three</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stir thirty-three times counterclockwise.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Add 200 grams of the dragon liver.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Heat up the room temperature to 48 degrees Celsius.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Add one sundried asophdel flower.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wave wand above concoction.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Let simmer for seventy-eight minutes.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Cool concoction down immediately to 10 degrees Celsius.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Add one dandelion root sliced in thin slices of 0,5 centimetre.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Heat up concoction to a boil.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Let simmer for one hour.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stir forty-four times clockwise.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Let simmer for twenty-four hours.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Part four</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Add 200 grams of the dragon liver.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stir thirty-nine times counterclockwise.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stir twenty-five times clockwise. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Add the rest of the fluxweed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Let simmer for forty-eight hours, stirring the concoction every twelve hours three times counterclockwise.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Part five</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stir the concoction seventy times clockwise. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Cool down the room temperature to -5 degrees Celsius and keep this temperature.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Add 0,5 grams of anjelica.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Let simmer for thirty-eight minutes, turning the concoction green.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stir nine time clockwise. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Let simmer for one-hundred and sixty-eight minutes.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wave wand over concoction.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Let simmer for twenty-four hours.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Repeat step 3-8 until the anjelica is used up. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Part six</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Add the last anjelica herb.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stir twenty times counterclockwise.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Let simmer for two hours.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wave wand above concoction </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Let simmer for forty-eight hours undisturbed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Part seven</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Heat up the room temperature to 20 degrees Celsius.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Heat up the pewter cauldron and pour the concoction from the copper cauldron into the pewter cauldron.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Add the last sundried asophdel flower.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stir six times clockwise. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Let simmer for three hours.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stir nine times clockwise.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wave wand above concoction. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Let simmer for seventy-two hours.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Part eight</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stir eighty-eight times clockwise.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stir fifty-seven times counterclockwise.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Let simmer for forty-five minutes.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Cool down concoction immediately to fifty-six degrees Celsius. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stir three times clockwise.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Bring to a boil immediately. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Let simmer for ninety-six hours, stirring the concoction every twenty-four hours three times counterclockwise.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Part nine</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Add the last of the dragon liver.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stir eight times clockwise.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stir seventeen times counterclockwise. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Let simmer for ninety-six hours, stirring the concoction every twelve hours thirty times clockwise.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Part ten</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Add one drop of Phoenix tear. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stir nine times clockwise. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Let simmer for seventy-two hours, stir every twenty-four hours nine times counterclockwise. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Repeat until all tears have been used. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Part eleven </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wave wand above concoction, turning it yellow.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Add the last dandelion root in moonlight.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wave wand above concoction.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stir fifteen times clockwise.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Let simmer for one hundred minutes.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stir twenty-one times clockwise.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Let simmer for forty-eight hours undisturbed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Part twelve</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Add the crushed fairy wings.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wave wand above concoction, turning it pink.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stir three times clockwise.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stir seven times counterclockwise. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Let simmer for seven days undisturbed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Part thirteen</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Add the unicorn hair. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Let simmer for twenty-four hours.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wave wand above concoction.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The concoction will turn milky white before turning gold with a mother of pearl sheen.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The Essence of Life is odourless while brewing. Should thee fin an odour from the cauldron thee have failed.</em>
</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Draco</strong>
</p><p>He had worked on the potion with Granger until Quidditch practice. He had left twenty minutes before the practice had begun, leaving him just enough time to change his clothes and grab some food he could eat while walking down to the Quidditch field. It had felt good to feel the wind in his hair, feeling the broom underneath him, and he had soared through the sky, feeling like nothing could get him up there as long as he flew fast enough. Draco could breathe up here: he could push away the mission for the Dark Lord, push away his worry about Granger, push away his fear of failing. He breathed in deeply. It was almost dark, and if not for the projectors which lighted up the field, it would have been impossible to see.  It was a cold evening, and the wind was chilling but Draco didn’t notice. Draco just drilled the drills; loops, a vertical descend at breakneck speed only stopping the fall at the last second just centimetres above the ground, chasing the snitch, sharp turns in the air.</p><p>When his feet had touched the ground, Draco had been reluctant to dismount the broom; but it couldn’t be helped – he had a complex potion to brew after all, and they were only at the second part of the potion. Draco took a quick shower and returned to the castle and their classroom. She sat on the floor reading a – for her standards – thin book, scribbling down notes on a parchment while chewing on her bottom lip. On the floor stood the cauldron, and a timer indicated that it would simmer for another forty-two minutes and 19 (18, 17, 16, 15…) seconds.</p><p>“What are you reading?” She looked up at him, a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth.</p><p>“You wouldn’t be interested.” He definitely was now.</p><p>“Try me,” he replied as he sat down in a chair, making himself comfortable.</p><p>“It’s about house elves. I sort of need the information for my S.P.E.W-campaign.” And it was there – the fire burning in her eyes, making them look like melted gold. He hadn’t seen the wildfire since their third year when she had punched him in the face. Though the magic didn’t crack around her in angry swirls, lashing at him, he still thought she looked glorious. He could tell that this thing was important to her.</p><p>“Your what?”</p><p>“S.P.E.W. Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. I try to free them,” she said with her jaw set, shoulders square, and a hard glint in her pretty eyes, daring him to say something nasty about it. “I will hex you off the face of the earth if you so much as quirk an eyebrow the wrong way!” He couldn’t help but swallow, knowing the witch in front of him was very much able to curse him to the moon and back. Draco didn’t like the thought and so he went with a more innocent question.</p><p>“And what will happen to the freed elves?”</p><p>“They would be free to do whatever they please. It’s sort of the whole point, Malfoy,” she rolled her eyes at him, as it was obvious. Though noble as her intention was it was flawed.</p><p>“Have you considered that house elves need to work in order to thrive?”</p><p>“Need to work yes, but not be held as slaves! No creature should ever be held as a slave!” she snapped, caramel eyes narrowed slits. He had angered her, and he held up his hands in surrender.</p><p>“So, the elves are supposed to go find work – where exactly?”</p><p>“Well, I – “</p><p>“Hadn’t given it a thought? They would be miserable without work. It would be cruel to secure their freedom without a plan on how to keep them working.” Her face paled and she was eerily quiet for a long time.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Hermione </strong>
</p><p>Hermione stared at Malfoy. His face was blank, not giving away his thought, but Hermione didn’t feel like he was mocking her. It felt like he merely pointed out a flaw in her plan. And it was a flaw, one she hadn’t been aware had existed. <em>I can’t condemn them from one misery into the next. It solves nothing, only moving the problem. Oh Merlin, how could I have overlooked such an important piece of information? </em>Hermione felt miserable. At first, she had been angry with Malfoy. She had thought he had defended the mistreatment of the elves, but as soon as he had pointed out her mistake, her anger had dissipated like frost in the summer sun. Her ire turned towards herself. It was such an amateur mistake.</p><p>“I didn’t know that,” she admitted in a whisper, feeling the heat of shame rise in her cheeks. As soon as the words had left her lips, she regretted it. Merlin, she had admitted a fault in front of Malfoy! Malfoy, of all people, her tormentor for so many years. She winced at her own stupidity and dug the heels of hand into her eyes, the unshed tears burned in her eyes. <em>Stupid, stupid, stupid! </em></p><p>“You didn’t know?” he asked incredulously and sounded like he didn’t believe his own ears. “How could you not know? It’s common knowledge in the wizarding world.” At least this explained why Malfoy knew – it wasn’t because he cared about the elves.</p><p>“Have you been obliviated? I didn’t grow up in the wizarding world!” she had removed her hands from her eyes, and the tears came unbidden, while she had stood up abruptly making Malfoy crane his neck to see her face. She swiped at her face furiously trying to remove the evidence of her shame not wanting Malfoy to see her tears – she hadn’t cried in front of him since second year after he had called her Mudblood, and she had vowed to never let him see her cry again. Hermione glared at Malfoy and he looked sheepish which confused her.</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>Hermione opened her mouth to say something nasty when the timer went off. Hermione tore her eyes from Malfoy, waving her wand to cool down the potion as per instructions.</p><p>“Well, now that you do know, you can do something about it.” Malfoy just seemed to contemplate something. Hermione felt at a loss. <em>Why is he suddenly nice to me? </em>But he was right.</p><p>“I guess you’re right,” she answered distantly. She ignored him while deep in thought. Now she could actually make a plan as to how to improve the lives of the elves. Although still disappointed in herself for the gap in her knowledge, she could see the possibilities. Perhaps the elves would benefit from some sort of program? Or working</p><p>Or a working contract, where the elves would have the right to quit if they were mistreated? I would ensure proper working conditions, give the elves the right to choose their master, and they would get paid, and have days off! She got excited at the thought. Yes, she would chase the idea of working contracts. It would be perfect.</p><p>The timer went of again, and Malfoy reached for his wand, waved it over the cauldron in an elegant movement.</p><p>Plucking up her Gryffindor courage she caught his grey eyes. She took a deep breath. “Thank you for letting me know about the elves’ need for work,” she wrung her hands in front of her. Malfoy just looked at her with a blank face giving nothing away. “And, uhm, thanks for not being a total idiot about me not knowing,” she added. Hermione watched Malfoy add the mandrake to the potion and bring it to a boil.</p><p>“Whatever,” Malfoy shrugged, looking like he didn’t care about her gratitude. “So, what do you plan to do then?” He still looked bored and this conversation was only to keep the boredom at bay. Hermione contemplated telling him. It could go one of two ways: either he would be an ass about it, mocking her or be cruel, or, he could continue to be creepily nice about it. Would it even matter if she told him? She couldn’t see the point in not telling him – after all, ever since they had been paired together he had not once been cruel. Arrogant, yes, but not demeaning towards her.</p><p>“Well, I thought perhaps a working contrast could improve their welfare. It’s still only an idea, I would need to research further, though.” The potion had turned pink, and Hermione waved her wand; cooling the potion down to 30 degrees Celsius. Hermione took the oak spoon and stirred the potion twenty-five times counterclockwise, counting aloud while Malfoy kept his eyes trained on the cauldron and spoon, counting alongside with her. “But I thought it would give the elves better working conditions, a fair wage, and the freedom to choose their master,” Hermione said once she had stirred the potion and Malfoy had brought it to a boil.</p><p>“I see. Have you considered how these contracts are going to work? Would it be a standard contract or individually made? For how long should these contracts be valid? Should the negotiations be supervised in order to secure the elves are not being utilized?” Hermione blinked; surprised by his honest questions. They had no menacing edge to them, no hidden cruelty. And so Hermione answered to the best of her abilities without the proper research to back up her ideas – which she made clear to him.<br/>
During the rest of the evening they discussed her plans on the S.P.E.W-campaign. She would ask him his opinion on her revised plan, and he complied, pointing out the flaws and the strengths and continued to ask her critically questions regarding her plans. Did she think of this and that? Had she considered the cost of it or how big the wages should be?<br/>
Hermione felt that discussing the house elves’ rights with Malfoy was refreshing. She had finally found someone who could challenge her opinions and points of view, someone who could follow her arguments, understanding her references and produce his own opinion based upon facts and not feelings. She discovered that Malfoy was a very interesting person to be around when he wasn’t a pompous, self-absorbed, spoiled bully. And he hadn’t been a bully for some time, Hermione admitted. The last time he had called her the horrible slur had been in their fourth year. After that he hadn’t directed his cruel words towards her, in fact, he had almost pretended like she didn’t exist at all, only insulting Ron and Harry. Malfoy had gone out of his way to ignore her existence since they had ended up being each others dance partners for two turns at the Yule Ball. And now, as they had been paired up to brew this potion, he had actually been kind of nice to her.</p><p><em>Is this the beginning of a friendship?</em> Frail as it was, it felt like something akin to friendship. It was a weird feeling. She truly appreciated him being nice to her – meaning she appreciated that he didn’t insult her or belittle her. It was so odd. It confused Hermione and she couldn’t figure out why.</p><p>“Why are you nice to me?” She couldn’t hold her curiosity back any longer.</p><p>“What? Would you prefer for me to insult you?”</p><p>“No, of course not. It’s just a bit confusing.”</p><p>“We are going to work together for several weeks. Both of us wants a high mark and insulting you wouldn’t be the brightest idea and certainly won’t help me achieve said high mark,” he answered with a shrug. Hermione had to laugh at that, she didn’t even know why, it wasn’t funny or anything, it was just <em>so </em>Slytherin of him.</p><p>“You’re kind of self-preserving, aren’t you?” she giggled, holding a hand in front of her mouth. Malfoy offered her a knowing smile, it tugged at the corner of his lips, making his eyes crinkle a little.</p><p>“I <em>am </em>a Slytherin, you know,” he sniffed, nose in the air and smile still in place.</p><p>Hermione still thought he had a beautiful smile.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Plans and changes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thnk you all for reading! I'm so happy and very humbled by the response so far. You motivate me to keep on writing. Thank you!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Hermione</strong>
</p><p>Harry, Ron and Hermione sat in the Great Hall one morning. They sat by themselves, a good distance to their fellow Gryffindors. Harry sat beside Hermione and Ron sat opposite them, all of them eating their breakfasts with little attention to it. Harry had been meeting with Dumbledore in private. Her best friend told Hermione and Ron what had happened during the hours he was away. Apparently, he had been looking at memories from Voldemort’s time at Hogwarts. Hermione thought that Dumbledore must have an ulterior motive by showing these memories, but Harry had so far not detected something out of the ordinary; Tom Marvolo Riddle had been a beautiful boy, tall and lean, with dark hair, pale skin, square and strong jaw, full lips, and striking blue eyes. He had been charming, and an excellent student – if you ignored the murder of Myrtle and his dad and grandparents he had committed while attending Hogwarts and managed to frame Hagrid, sweet and gentle, for the murder of Myrtle and Riddle’s uncle for murdering his dad and grandparents. Though Hermione supposed that in order to frame others for murder, you would have to be intelligent. Riddle had been a prefect and later Head Boy and had graduated as an honour student. But what Dumbledore wanted Harry to know, Hermione couldn’t figure out. <em>What is it he’s trying to prepare Harry for? </em>There was no doubt in Hermione’s mind, that Harry had some part to play. And Hermione would follow him; she had followed him every single time he had faced some kind of danger, whether it be the trials to get the Philosopher’s Stone, or which creature lurked in the Chamber of Secrets, or travelling back in time to save his Godfather, or even help him prepare for his trials in the TriWizard Tournament, she had been there, as far as possible. She would always be there, always have his back, always help and support him. Harry was her best friend, her brother, and she would die for him. But Hermione wasn’t worried yet; Dumbledore was alive and would be able to protect the school from Voldemort. Hermione was sure, that though war was inevitable, it was still some years in the future<br/>
They whispered quietly among one another. Of course, it would have been better to talk about this matter somewhere more secluded, but as Hermione was brewing the potion with Malfoy, almost all her spare time was used in the classroom. In fact, she had just been there in order to stir the potion. Harry was in the middle of retelling the things he had seen the night before with Dumbledore, when he suddenly stopped talking, casting a suspicious look at the door. Hermione followed his gaze and saw Malfoy walk into the Great Hall, Crabbe and Goyle walking behind him like two overgrown – not to mention disformed – shadows. Both of them had grown rather large during the years, they were tall and had wide shoulders. They way they followed Malfoy, one would think they were his bodyguards.</p><p>“There is something wrong about Malfoy,” Harry said as he followed Malfoy’s progress to the Slytherin table. He sat down gracefully, piling food on his plate and pouring himself a cup of tea. As soon as Malfoy had seated himself, Pansy Parkinson scooted over to him, clinging to his side, whispering something into his ear. “He looks sick. Probably the mission he has been given,” Harry mused, narrowing his eyes at Malfoy. Hermione rolled her eyes. It was true that Malfoy looked exhausted; he had heavy bags under his eyes, looking paler than usual, and his hair, though still impossibly shiny, was mussed compared to previous years. Hermione rolled her eyes. She had known that Harry would bring up the whole ‘Malfoy is a Death Eater’-theory again, but she was still hoped, rather childishly, that he would forget the matter completely.</p><p>“Harry, for goodness sake, just because he looks like a drowned Kneazle it doesn’t mean he plans something sinister,” Hermione admonished. It should have felt weird to defend Malfoy, but after the last couple of weeks working with him on the potion, building something akin to friendship (but still not entirely friendship, something much more frail than that, something she couldn’t describe using a single word) it was actually quite easy to defend him. Besides, it wasn’t like she rationalized his bullying, she merely pointed out that accusing him of working with Voldemort was unfair. Harry’s eyes glistened with stubbornness and Hermione sighed. “Well, why do you think Dumbledore is showing you Riddle’s time here at Hogwarts?” Hermione opted for distracting Harry. Harry, never taking his eyes of Malfoy, just shrugged.</p><p>“Dunno.” Suddenly his head snapped to her, green eyes alight with excitement. “Hermione, you work with the ferret,” Ron made a face at that. He disliked the whole affair though Hermione had told him how Malfoy had actually helped her with S.P.E.W, and had been tolerable to work with thus far – Ron, Hermione suspected, would always dislike Malfoy. “You could try to figure out what’s up with him!” Harry gave her a satisfied smile, like it was the best plan in the world. Hermione didn’t like this. It would betray the fragile trust between herself and Malfoy, and Hermione didn’t like betrayal at all.</p><p>“But Harry-“</p><p>“You did say that he had been nice to you, yes?” Hermione nodded reluctantly. “Then it’s settled. Just try Hermione,” Harry said and patted her shoulder. Hermione swallowed, not giving an answer.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Draco</strong>
</p><p>He had had the cabinet for a month, and there was still no progress. He had been able to figure out that something was wrong with the connection to the twin cabinet, which caused things placed inside the cabinet to disappear and not reappearing in the twin cabinet, which currently stood at the Manor, though he had still to figure out what exactly was wrong. The Room of Requirement was crammed with old junk, piled up to the ceiling. Brooms, books, empty cages, old desks, chairs. The list went on and on. One could get lost in the labyrinths of the piles and piles of junk. The air in the room was heavy and stale and it smelled like dust and oblivion. On the majority of the things was a heavy layer of dust. Some of these things had been abandoned years ago; on an old school trunk of poor quality wood (the paint had peeled of, revealing the worm infested wood underneath) stood a name and a year in italic: M. Dolohov, 1878. Draco figured it most have belonged to Millard Dolohov, who, at the time he had attended Hogwarts was almost as poor as the Weasleys, had managed to save the Dolohovs from poverty by investing in trades with the Americans. Millard had probably placed the trunk here, in order to forget the poverty as ritual way of moving forward. But of course, Draco couldn’t be sure. Next to the cabinet stood an oval mirror. He caught a glimpse of himself in it. The lack of sleep was visible: huge, purple circles under each eye, his complexion too pale to be healthy, and his hair was a mess. Draco turned away from the sight. The cabinet, made of a dark type of wood, stood before him, almost mocking him with his lack of progress. <em>I still have several months to figure this out, </em>he tried to calm himself. And he still had yet to figure out a plan to kill Dumbledore. Draco had considered several things in order to kill the old headmaster: poison, cursed object, use the Imperius curse and make someone else kill him, stage an accident. The only thing hadn’t considered was to look the man in the eye and kill him. Draco knew that he wouldn’t have the stomach to see the light leave another human being’s eyes. Draco wasn’t heartless. Even though he had at times loathed the old man (especially because of the headmaster’s favouritism towards that blasted Potter) it didn’t mean that Draco would be able to kill the fool in cold blood. No, he would find another way. Perhaps poison would be a good choice? It would be hard to trace back to him if he took care. Yes, he would try that. But what to poison and how to get it to him? Draco realised, he didn’t know a thing about Dumbledore besides his fame. Somehow he would have to gain some type of information. While Draco stared at the vanishing cabinet, Draco contemplated his connections; who knew Dumbledore well enough to know what the man did and didn’t like? Potter would be possibly know something, but Draco would rather be crucioed rather than talking to him. Granger would perhaps know as well, though she was too intelligent to let herself be manipulated. Perhaps a teacher would know, someone who had been a colleague to the headmaster? Hadn’t Slughorn worked at Hogwarts when Dumbledore was still a transfiguration professor? Draco would try to get some information out of him. He knew that Slughorn liked the finer things in life – Draco could offer him some wine from one of the Malfoy vineyards, trying to figure out what he disliked, sending that particular beverage to him, and then hope he would gift it to the headmaster. It could be possible, though it would be a risk. He would have to rely heavily on luck and Slughorn’s ambition in improving his standing and knowing the right people. it would be a risk, but Draco had no other choice.</p><p>He had a silver lining this year. Granger. Draco had enjoyed brewing the potion with her. Her smell permeated the air as the potion was odourless. He had enjoyed even more to discuss the thing she had started for the house elves, though he didn’t care much about it, she had made him forget about his worries for a short while; at that moment he had been an ordinary teenager discussing something with the girl he adored, and he was thankful for the moment, cherishing it in the deepest corner of his mind. And it was one of the first times they had had a friendly discussing without name calling or sneering. He wondered if this was what it felt like to be friends with Granger. Though he wished to be more; whenever he saw her wait outside the classroom waiting for him – in order to disturb the potion as little as possible – his heart would flutter. He would get sweety palms which he discreetly wiped in his robes. All these moments, every thought, were put in the periwinkle box in his mind along with the feeling he had when he was with her – though they were precious to him, he had to protect her, Mother, Father, and himself. <em>Speaking of Granger, I’m supposed to meet up with her in ten minutes, </em>he thought as he glanced at the clock. He quickly left the room of requirements.</p><p> The redhead and Scarface had accompanied her to the classroom that day, and they talked quietly among one another. Seeing him approach the conversation died. Weasel looked like he had smelled something foul; his nose scrunched and he sneered at Draco for no particular reason. Potter looked like he contemplated something, which ought to earn him a medal, as it meant that his braincells actually worked.</p><p>“What’s wrong Weasel? Smelled your rotting brain?” Draco asked innocently. Weasel was about to say something in return, but Draco cut him of not wanting to hear whatever pathetic response his brain had conjured. “We have work to do, Granger,” Draco said to the witch in front of him. Her hair was in a messy bun on top of her head baring her neck.</p><p>“Yeah, sure,” Granger said and the turned towards the two idiots. “I’ll see you later.” Both boys nodded and Potter gave her a pad on the shoulder and a crocked smile, before leaning into her, whispering something in her ear. Then they turned around and walked away. Granger turned towards Draco and offered a small tug at lips.</p><p>The classroom was silent except for the sound from the simmering potion.</p><p>“Those two are idiots! How can you be friends with them?” Draco had asked when the door had closed behind them.</p><p>“Oh, so I suppose Crabbe and Goyle are that much better company, then?” she replied sharply, irony lacing her words and she rolled her pretty eyes.</p><p>“I just don’t see what draws you to them. It seems like you have nothing in common. You are far more intelligent than them. It seems like they are alive because of you.” And it was true. Draco had wondered several times how the friendship came to be. If he remembered correctly, Weasel had hated Granger because she had corrected is pronunciation of the floating charm. They couldn’t meet up to her superior intellect, she had no interest in Quidditch. So what had happened since they had suddenly become inseparable?</p><p>“How did you become friends with Crabbe and Goyle then?”</p><p>“They’re not my friends,” he dismissed with a sniff, “they only follow me around because my family has more importance than theirs. I don’t have any friends.” Draco sniffed. It was true. At one time he might have called Theodore Nott a friend. Back when they were children he might have considered Theodore as a friend. Perhaps even Blaise. But ever since they had started at Hogwarts Draco had preferred Crabbe and Goyle, as they were easier to manipulate, and would bend to his will. Draco didn’t even now The and Blaise anymore, they were almost strangers to him.  </p><p>“Oh, I’m sorry.” She bit her lip.</p><p>“What for?” Why would she be sorry?</p><p>“It can be rather lonely. Everyone needs friends,” she replied calmly.</p><p>“Well, I don’t,” Draco dismissed in a drawl. She gave him a funny look. Her caramel eyes glinted with… something. <em>Is that… is that pity? Does she pity me for not having any friends?</em></p><p>She averted her eyes, concentrating on the potion, cutting the dragon liver in small precise cubes of 1,2 centimetres on each length with the cobber knife – a useless tool, as the edge would dull in minutes. They had opted for using two knives, one of them would cut the dragon liver with one knife, and the other would sharpen the used, dull knife. Draco sharpened the knife in his hand. After only half a minute Granger handed him the knife in her hand, and as he took it, he offered the knife he had worked on. She took it and continued her work. The dragon liver would be needed in about an hour, then the potion would have brewed for the required forty-eight hours.</p><p>The moment the dragon liver had been added, the room had been heated up 48 degrees Celsius: the air felt thick, breathing felt exhausting and small beads of sweat broke on Draco’s skin. Pearls of sweat ran down his back and his hair was soon plastered to his forehead and his white button up shirt felt suffocating as it was clinging to his back. Draco shed his outer robes, he was only wearing his pants and button up shirt keeping the sleeves down. He wanted nothing more than to claw the disgusting blemish off of his skin. He pulled at the collar of his shirt, trying to get some air, before he eventually unbuttoned the first couple of buttons. Granger had shed her outer robes too, wearing only her skirt and button up shirt. She had rolled up her sleeves to her elbows, showcasing her beautiful sunkissed skin and slender arms. The heat in the room had made Granger sweat as well: her shirt was a bit see-through, Draco could see the outline of a blue bra, and it made his thoughts go wild and made his body react in an inappropriate way; his mind seemed to stop thinking rational thoughts and his blood seemed to rush south. Right now, all Draco could think about was to rip off her shirt and explore her sunkissed skin and finally figure out if her freckles were limited to her shoulders or if they were dotted around her body. Granger wiped her brow as she added the asophdel flower, and her small fingers gripped the wand and in a fluent motion she waved her wand above the potion. Draco blinked, pushed the thoughts of Granger’s skin into the periwinkle box, and then stared out the windows. Not that he could see that much. It was almost completely dark outside. Draco could only just discern the outline of the mountains surrounding the Black Lake.</p><p>“Well, uhm, I had thought that we had perhaps become some sorts of, uhm, friends,” Granger mumbled but stared him straight in the eyes. She fiddled with her fingers. Draco just stared at her. How could such a kindhearted, forgiving creature ever been placed in his life? He was amazed by her ability to seemingly forgive the cruel way he had treated her, and he was awed by her gentle nature and the contrasts she contained: from the gentle, forgiving creature in front of him to the sheer force of nature she had been in their third year. Misunderstanding his stare for something cruel she adverted her eyes, sucking her plump lip into mouth and chewed on it with a force he had never witnessed before. “Never mind, just forget I said anything.” Draco wanted to reassure her; he wanted nothing more than her friendship, but Draco knew it could never be publicly known.</p><p>“Whatever Granger, as long as you don’t expect to talk outside this room,” he drawled, hoping she would understand his meaning that yes, it was something akin to friendship, but it would have to be kept private. Seeing the small smile on her lips, Draco knew she had understood. And accepted it.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Hermione </strong>
</p><p>Hermione walked from the classroom towards Gryffindor tower; her hair was still damp, sweat still trickled down her back, and her outer robes hung over her arm. She mulled things over, picking apart the conversation she had had with Malfoy. Hermione had understood perfectly. He enjoyed her company, maybe because she was intelligent, maybe because she didn’t follow him around like Crabbe and Goyle. No matter the cause, Malfoy liked to spend time with her. He was just too damn proud to admit it. Perhaps he was afraid of his Dad’s wrath, or his Mum’s sharp words. Hermione had never met Narcissa Malfoy, but she imagined her nonetheless. In Hermione’s imagination, Narcissa Malfoy was an elegant woman, as most Purebloods are. She would have a long face, with sharp features; a sharp jaw, sharp cheekbones, straight nose, which would be slightly point, long and pointy chin, and thin lips. Thinking of Sirius’ and Bellatrix Lestrange’s dark, curled hair and dark eyes, Hermione imagined that Narcissa Malfoy would have hair similar to theirs. Hermione shuddered; thinking about Bellatrix made cold shivers run down her spine. The woman was like Fiendfyre; once she was released, she couldn’t be stopped. She was the personification of madness. Hermione thought that Narcissa Malfoy would have light eyes, like Sirius, in order to Malfoy to have such striking eyes.</p><p>Sirius had told them about Tonks’ Mum, and how she had been shunned from her family because she had fallen in love with a Muggleborn. Sirius had told them about the abuse he had suffered, physical and emotional, and Hermione’s heart had wept for him. She had pictured a small boy, no more than four years old, being locked into his room without food and water for several days because he had asked about Muggles, she had pictured a boy, no more than seven years old, being slapped for playing too loudly, she had pictured a boy, ten years old, littered in scars as he was being punished for an outburst of accidental magic, and after each punishment he had been told that it was for his own good, that all parents showed their love and concern that way. She had pictured a young man, fifteen or perhaps sixteen years old, running away from home because the abuse became too much to bear. Sirius’ childhood had been cruel and lonely and full of hatred and prejudices. At least some things had changed after attending Hogwarts; he had found friends and had felt love. Until he got back home after his first year; his horrible mother had waited for him and punished him with a Cruciatus curse for being sorted into Gryffindor. How Hermione’s heart had wept for the almost broken man in front of her.</p><p>Hermione understood why Malfoy would be reluctant to admit a friendship between them. She really did. Hermione imagined that Malfoy was raised very similar to Sirius, except for the abuse. Malfoy would have been raised with the same beliefs; that Muggles and Muggleborns were vile and deserved nothing but to be eradicated, that he was worth more than she, simply because he was Pureblood. And to think otherwise would mean expulsion from the family.</p><p>Reaching the entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room she had become none the wiser. The Fat Lady, today wearing a hideaous yellow ball gown with white lace trimmings, let her in after Hermione had given the painting the password. The Common Room was empty; it was rather late. Past curfew to be exact, but Malfoy and Hermione had acquired a permission slip from Slughorn, as their potion would take so long to brew. The permission slip was valid until mid-December when the assignment ended. Hermione sighed. She was tired and went to bed, quickly brushing her teeth. She would take a shower the next morning, she decided, knowing her hair would be a frightful mess otherwise. The floor in her dorm creaked as she tiptoed to her bed. Her dormmates snores lightly – apparently none of them knew the simple silencing spell. Hermione slipped under her covers and rested her head on the soft pillow, sighing with contentment.</p><p>She understood Malfoy’s reluctance, and she understood that secrecy was a condition to their friendship. And she had accepted it, because she understood. But that didn’t mean she had to like it.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Hermione </strong>
</p><p>“Were you able to pry something from him?” Harry asked her the second he sat down beside her in the Great Hall. His green eyes glinted with mischief and he gave her an expectant look. Hermione felt herself become annoyed. Merlin, it had only been one day, what was he expecting? That Malfoy would spill all his secrets? Though they had become friends – of sorts – it didn’t mean they were at the point of sharing secrets. Right now they only enjoyed each others company and the stimulating conversations about academics. But neither Harry nor Ron knew about that, they only knew that Malfoy had been tolerable and on one occasion he had been helpful.</p><p>“Merlin, Harry, it’s only been a day!” Hermione exclaimed. Harry gave her a sheepish smile.</p><p>“Right, sorry,” he mumbled as he began piling food on his plate. A second later Ron joined them sitting opposite of them. Hermione sat with her back against the wall and with an overview of the Great Hall. “You’ll keep trying, right?” Harry asked as he poured some pumpkin juice into a goblet, offering the juice to Ron who accepted it.</p><p>“I don’t know if it’s possible, Harry. I mean, I’ll try, but don’t expect anything,” Hermione mumbled, looking at her plate with food. She had lost her appetite. She poked the food with her fork, not looking at either of her companions.</p><p>“Don’t worry about it, Mione. The sooner the potion is finished the better,” Ron said soothingly. Hermione forced herself to smile.</p><p>“What did Dumbledore want, Harry?” Hermione asked, desperate to change the subject, but had made sure nobody was around to eavesdrop. As a safety measure she cast a nonverbal Muffliato. Harry blinked, not prepared for the question. He looked thoughtful for a moment, thinking back to his lesson with Dumbledore, and his green eyes glazed over as he was lost in his thoughts.</p><p>“Well, he showed me a memory from Professor Slughorn. But there was something wrong with it. Every memory I have looked at this far as been crystal clear. But this memory… “ Harry trailed of, probably searching for the right word, “towards the end of the memory, the edges became foggy and sound was like being underwater. It was strange, and at first I was very confused.”</p><p>“The memory was false, or it had been altered,” Hermione guessed. She had read about it – of course – and knew that memories could be altered like that, but it was very difficult and demanded high skill in Occlumency in order to tamper with memories without leaving traces behind. Slughorn, it appeared, was not a skilled enough Occlumens, as his memories showed tell tale signs of altering. Harry nodded, confirming her statement.</p><p>“Yes. The thing is, Slughorn covered up an important piece of information. Riddle asked about an odd piece of magic but Slughorn obscured this part and altered his own answer.”</p><p>“But why would he do that?” Ron asked. “I mean, Dumbledore asked for this memory for a reason, why would Slughorn cover something up for Dumbledore?” Harry shrugged his shoulders. He, apparently, hadn’t given Slughorn’s reasons much thought.</p><p>“Isn’t it obvious?” Hermione asked. As both boys stared at her with a confused look in their eyes, Hermione sighed. “He is obviously ashamed. Whatever it was that Riddle wanted to know, Slughorn believes he might have given Voldemort some useful information he might have used, and thus feels a great deal of shame,” Hermione explained. Comprehension dawned on their faces.</p><p>“I wonder what it may be,” Ron mused. “Probably some kind of dark magic.”</p><p>“Dumbledore wants to know as well. He has asked me to collect the real memory,” Harry replied, pushing his glasses in place as they had fallen down his nose.</p><p>“You have to be very careful when you approach Slughorn, Harry. He might react very poorly if you approach him the wrong way,” Hermione warned her green eyed friend. Harry nodded. As the conversation had ended, Hermione ended the Muffliato charm. Ginny, who had just entered the Great Hall along with Neville, sat down besides Ron, while Neville took place besides Hermione. The five of them ate their breakfasts together, talking of small mundane matters, joking, and laughing together.</p><p>The classroom with their potion felt just as suffocating on the second day as on the first day. The air was thick and heavy. Hermione suspected the room held a high humidity because of the brewing potion, and she had decided to ask Ginny if she would plait her hair that morning. Hermione had shed her robe and grey jumper outside, only wearing her button up shirt, skirt, and tie while waiting outside the classroom, knowing full well it would be unbearably hot in there. She had brought several flasks of water. Malfoy approached her looking much the same as she. As he opened the door, he began to pull at the tie with his elegant fingers, and removed it in a fluid motion. Hermione had less luck with her tie; the stubborn thing didn’t budge, and Hermione began to pull at it rather aggressively. She heard Malfoy trying to stifle laugh, which she appreciated but felt the heat creep up her neck nonetheless. Finally the bloody tie came off, and Hermione threw the thing in her bag. She pulled up her sleeves, she was already sweaty and needed some air. Hermione noticed that Malfoy refrained from pulling up his sleeves, though clear beads of sweat had gathered on his forehead. She wondered why he didn’t pull up the sleeves; perhaps it was some Pureblood thing or what not. Hermione didn’t think further of it for the rest of the evening as they explored their newfound friendship.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Draco </strong>
</p><p>In a matter of days Draco had gotten a bottle of a fine sparkling white wine from a Malfoy vineyard in southern France. Mother had been very quick to suffice him with necessary things, he reminded himself to thank her properly some time. <em>Perhaps a nice dinner out when all this shit is over? </em>Though Draco knew that Mother only wished for one thing (besides Draco’s survival), and that was grandchildren. Though most Purebloods would be engaged before their fifteenth birthday, Draco was not yet engaged. It was custom for the parents to find a spouse, and a custom his parents had upheld, but they had been unable to find an advantageous match. Though there were several eligible Pureblood witches, their fortune had been questionable, their connections had been poor, or there had been some sort of scandal in the family. Draco hadn’t minded being single – he was one of the most eligible bachelors in wizarding Britain. Or he had been. Father being sent to Azkaban had been an ugly scratch for the Malfoys, making them less amiable in the public opinion. Which was still fine. It had meant that some of the witches had retreated, thus giving Draco more space – except for Pansy. She still had her eyes set on him; she would sit besides him at any given opportunity, trying to seduce him. Draco had told her off several times already, this year he simply didn’t have the time nor the energy to concentrate on women. Thus had his pairing with Granger been both a blessing and a curse; he could spend time with her (and now they had even become friends of sorts), but Draco also knew how dangerous it was. Every second spend with her would have to be kept away in the periwinkle box. She was his secret. Draco pushed his musing away as he stood in front of heavy oaken doors which led to professor Slughorn’s office. Draco breathed in through his nose, exhaled slowly through his mouth, put on a charming smile, and knocked on the door – three short, quick knocks. A small hatch in the door opened, and Slughorn looked out through it.</p><p>“Ah, young Mr. Malfoy. What brings you to seek out an old man?” he asked in a jolly voice. Draco turned on a charming smile.</p><p>“Oh you see, Professor, my family owns several vineyards in France and Italy, and we have just developed a new sparkling white wine. Mother wanted a second opinion, and I immediately of you of course,” Draco said and smiled at him. the hatch was closed and a second later the door opened to reveal the professor standing at the door, a big smile on his face.</p><p>“Do come in my boy,” he said as he stepped aside, inviting Draco in. Draco stepped in gracefully and found the wine from his robes. “Please sit down,” Slughorn boomed and pointed towards two red, plush armchairs in velour in front of a roaring fireplace. Between the chairs stood a small table, with enough room for a tea set, though standing on the table was a crystal glass containing a Scottish whiskey and the bottle containing the whiskey. Draco knew this brand, his Father had some bottles in the wine cellar. It was a rather expensive whiskey, not something a professor at Hogwarts would be able to afford. <em>Must be a gift then,</em> Draco thought and scratched whiskey from the list of possible gifts to the professor. Draco sat down in the chair to the left.</p><p>“Thank you, Professor.” Slughorn offered him some tea, which Draco politely declined. Slughorn sat down in the other chair with a sigh.</p><p>“Now, you said something about a wine?” he asked, and Draco smirked.</p><p>“Yes, as I said, we have developed this new type of wine,” Draco showed Slughorn the bottle, “and we would very much like a second opinion. I thought that you would perhaps appreciate the opportunity to try a glass seeing as you have very fine and developed palette. And, if you like it, I shall have some bottles send to you as a token of appreciation for your invaluable help.” Draco opted for charming the man, appealing to his vanity, and flatter him. At the glint appearing in Slughorn’s eyes it seemed like it had worked. He reached for the bottle and Draco gave him it. Slughorn examined the bottle closely.</p><p>“You have come to the right person, my boy. This is very interesting; combining two wines from such different districts,” Slughorn commented before he used an Accio charm to get himself two crystal wineglasses with a long stem. “I take it you would like to share a glass with me?” Draco nodded and Slughorn handed him one glass and then poured some wine in both glasses. The wine had a sweet smell. “Cheers, my boy,” Slughorn smiled as he tasted the wine and Draco took a sip as well. It was a very fruity wine, the bubbles poking his tongue taking away some of the sweetness. It certainly wasn’t a bad wine, but it wasn’t exactly suited for the autumn weather. “Ah, it’s a most excellent wine. Perhaps better suited for the summer,”</p><p>“I’m very glad that you like it. Mother shall be most pleased. Would you like some other types of wine?”</p><p>“I certainly enjoy a good glass of wine,” Slughorn smiled and took another sip of the wine in his glass. “Never been a fan of dessert wines though, much too sweet for my taste, though Albus seems to be very fond of them,” Slughorn</p><p>Draco smiled. To the professor it would seem like an innocent smile borne of happiness, but it was a smile of triumph. He would write Mother first thing in the morning.</p><p>Slughorn and Draco continued to chatter for half an hour longer before Draco excused himself and left the office with words of gratitude. And he truly meant them. Finally Draco had some sort of direction. Draco all but skipped to the classroom where he would meet up with Granger.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Dentists</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Hermione </strong>
</p><p>Hermione and Ron stood on a hidden alcove placed near an abandoned corridor on the fifth floor. Ron had tugged her along when Hermione had left the library. She had been startled when his hand had snatched hers, as she hadn’t seen him looming in the shadows outside the library. She was on her way to the classroom on the second floor as it was time for the next step in the brewing.</p><p>Standing on the alcove, Ron snaked his arm around Hermione’s waist. He tugged her closer to him. With his other hand he tugged a curl away from her eyes before it rested on her cheek, cupping her face in his large, warm hand. She didn’t know what to do with her hands and so she decided to settle them on his chest. He leaned down towards Hermione and her eyes fluttered close.</p><p>It was not one of the shy kisses. Hermione could feel his passion; his lips travelled over hers, and he nibbled at her bottom lip. The hand cupping her cheek wandered down, hovered over her breast – never touching, and settled just underneath it on her ribs. Ron kissed her with a growing fever; he licked her lips coaxing her to let him deepen the kiss, the hand under her breast wandered to her bum, and he gave it a light squeeze. Hermione tried to match his eagerness, opened her mouth to let him enter, and Ron’s tongue dipped in and explored her. It felt invasive even though she knew he was gentle. She tried to match his movements – he tasted like herb tea with honey; something earthy and sweet. Hermione squeezed her eyes hard; she wasn’t sure if she enjoyed this. Ron started to pant a little bit.</p><p>Ron’s blue eyes transformed into those of liquid silver, his became pale and formed a silver halo around his face, and his round face started to sharpen and she responded to the press of the lips against her own, the . As Hermione realised that Ron was transforming into Malfoy, her eyes flew open and she broke of the kiss, panting hard.</p><p>Ron stood before her, panting hard, and his breath tickled her face, making the curls move. He still had had  </p><p>“Sorry. I just… it was… I mean,” Hermione kept trailing off, completely unable to put her thought into words.</p><p>“Too fast?” Ron smiled, and Hermione gratefully</p><p>“Yes. Sorry,” Hermione mumbled adverting her eyes, feeling shame burn in her cheeks. Ron didn’t know that Hermione apologised because in her mind she had kissed Malfoy, not her boyfriend, and it made her feel shame. How could she?</p><p>“Don’t be. It was great. We’ll just take it slower then,” Ron answered her reassuringly, put a finger under her chin and gently tilted her head up and placed a kiss on her forehead. He dipped down lower, placing a sweet kiss on her lips. Both of them kept their eyes open. Ron’s blue orbs became lighter. The colour transformed into the colour of grey skies. Ron ended the kiss and Hermione was grateful for it. As soon as the thought had materialized, she felt a pang of guilt settle in the pit of her stomach. She tried hard not cringe. <em>What is wrong with me? </em>“Want to join me in the Common Room?” Hermione wanted to snap at him, how could he forget – yet again – that she needed to brew the potion with Malfoy? They had barely even begun, only reaching part five today (she had brought along her scarf, mittens, winter robes, and hat), the potion several weeks from completion. Hermione had told Ron this. Several times. And he, somehow kept forgetting. She took a calming breath before answering him.</p><p>“Sorry Ron, potion you know,” she said in an apologetic voice. Ron was visibly disappointed.</p><p>“Oh. I forgot,” he shrugged, and laughed it off, trying – and failing – to hide his hurt feelings. Hermione offered him a weak smile, reassuring him that it was quite all right. She stepped back, disentangled herself from him, and picked up her bag from where it lay on the stone floor.</p><p>“I’ll see you later,” she said, stepping closer to Ron, raised herself on her tiptoes and pecked him on the cheek, before turning around and all but fleeing from him. She kept admonishing herself from walking too fast, not wanting to seem like she was desperate to get away from Ron but failed.</p><p>She arrived outside the classroom on the second floor with five minutes to spare. She felt out of breath and dizzy. She leaned against the wall, closed her eyes, and concentrated on her breathing. She didn’t understand why Ron had transformed into Malfoy. It made no sense; they had only recently become friends, they didn’t even know each other that well. It just no sense in Hermione’s head. <em>I must be tired. </em>Yes, that was it; she was exhausted from her prefect duties (the last couple of patrols had been rather vexing as several students had been caught out of bed in a secluded classroom about to duel one another), and school (had her latest essay on the third goblin war been good enough? Was her assignment on ancient runes sufficiently researched?), and planning the S.P.E.W-campaign, and worrying about Harry. It have to be caused by exhaustion she decided.</p><p>As Malfoy arrived a few moments later, they walked into classroom. It was still so hot, making beads of sweat break out on her skin. Hermione sat down before the simmering potion and started to stir and count.</p><p>“… fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty…” Malfoy counted along in a quiet voice, eyes trained on the potion. “… seventy!” Malfoy immediately waved his wand and the temperature dropped instantly. Hermione started to shiver, and she dug around her bag procuring the winter clothes. They barely helped. She felt the cold seep into her bones, her nose was cold, and her teeth clattered. Malfoy had brought along his Slytherin scarf, a hat, the fine looking (and probably very expensive) gloves, and his winter robes. Hermione cursed the bloody potion and the ‘no unnecessary magic around the potion’-rule. There was quiet for a few minutes.</p><p>“So Granger, I’ve been wondering,” Malfoy broke the silence. What could Malfoy wonder about? She was curious and she looked at him. He looked indifferent as he sat there on the cold floor, breath coming out in white clouds.</p><p>“Y-yes?” Hermione cringed at the stuttering. It reminded her of Professor Quirrel, a reminder she did not need right now. The man had been vile, to say the least, and a horrible teacher at that.</p><p>“What the bloody Hell is a dentist?” Hermione felt the blood drain from her face. She felt the anger burning in her stomach, and her fist clenched. Had he befriended her so that she would let her guards down so that the words would be that much more cruel? She had waited for him to mock her about her parents and her heritage. She had waited for him to be cruel. Ever since Slughorn’s party she had been on her guard, waiting for him to strike her with his cruel words. It seemed like the time had just arrived, and Hermione braced herself.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Draco </strong>
</p><p>From unbearable heat to unbearable cold. The sweat had dissipated the second the room had been cooled down. Granger sat in front of the boiling potion, packed in a heavy winter robe, her Gryffindor scarf, home knitted mittens, and a knitted hat, covering her ears, and she still shivered, her lips a hue of blue, and her cheeks a lovely shade of red. It was freezing. Draco wore his winter robes, Slytherin scarf, dragon leather gloves, and a hat. He could still feel the cold seeping into his bones. The room was quiet; the only thing making a sound (besides Granger’s clattering teeth) were the boiling potion; small pops came from the cauldron every now and then.</p><p>“So Granger, I’ve been wondering,” Draco started, wanting to distract her from the cold by conversation. And himself for that matter. She looked up from her lap, fixing her pretty eyes, alight with curiosity, on him.</p><p>“Y-yes?” she stuttered, teeth clattering together. Her breath were small, white clouds in the air. The chairs and tables standing in the room were covered in a fine layer of ice, the windows had thick layers of ice making it difficult to see the outside world; the ice had made the grounds, Black Lake, and mountains look blurred and out of shape. </p><p>“What the bloody Hell is a dentist?” he asked. Her explanation at Slughorn’s party had only confused him further. Granger just blinked at him, squaring her shoulders under the robe. The liquid gold in her eyes froze over making them look hard and unforgiving.</p><p>“I t-told during the d-dinner, d-didn’t I?” her voice hard a hard tone to it, and Draco got the feeling he had crossed a line somewhere, though he couldn’t say where as the question was honest curiosity. But perhaps that was the problem. He had tormented her for years for her Muggle heritage. <em>Oh. Oh! She thinks I’m about to mock her parents. </em>As he realised this he winced. He would have to be honest with her if he wanted to know.</p><p>“I suppose you did. But, uhm, I didn’t quite understand it. It was confusing,” Draco confessed. “And the part about biting gave me all sorts of weird pictures in my head,” he added as an afterthought. His confession seemed to placate her, her caramel eyes softened, and her shoulders relaxed.</p><p>“It’s a b-bit d-difficult to explain… uhm, Muggles d-doesn’t have magic to fix their t-teeth,” she started slowly, contemplating every word and phrase. “Or to f-fix anything else for t-that matter-“</p><p>“Yes, I know,” Draco interrupted. Honestly, he wasn’t stupid (he wasn’t Weasel for Merlin’s sake) and he knew very well that Muggles didn’t have magic, thank you very much.</p><p>“Shush!” Granger said and gave him an admonishing glare, one she usually directed at Potter or Weasel when they said or did something foolish. Being on the receiving end of the glare was strange – it spoke of some sort of intimacy. Draco blinked, surprised by the scenario; she had shushed him like he was a child. “D-do you want t-to know or not?” Draco nodded slowly. “So, we have d-doctors – they are a b-bit like healers; d-diagnosing and curing if it’s c-curable. D-doctors, however, are all very s-specialized. Some only d-diagnose and heal illness in the s-stomach, others only the b-brain and so on. D-dentists are a kind of d-doctors specialized in t-teeth.” Draco thought it made sense.</p><p>“Okay, that makes sense. But what about the biting?” he asked and felt his eyebrows furrow in confusion.</p><p>“Not many c-children enjoys a v-visit to the d-dentist,” she explained. Draco supposed it was possible; not many children in the wizarding world enjoyed a trip to the healer after all, all the prodding and the sterile smell. Perhaps it was like that at the dentist as well? “They are often s-scared of the d-drill.”</p><p>“The drill?”</p><p>“Y-yes. If they have a c-cavity it needs to be d-drilled in order to f-fix it.” They would drill a cavity? It sounded incredibly painful. <em>No wonder the children bites them! </em>Draco was horrified to hear these tales. Who in their right mind would willingly go to a dentist? Granger must have seen the horrified expression on his face, as she giggled. “No w-worries. They are under a-anaesthetics. They d-don’t feel a thing.” Draco mused over this.</p><p>“If they don’t feel a thing, why are they scared then?”</p><p>“I d-don’t know,” she shrugged. “S-sometimes the children d-dislike the braces. A boy, Jacob, b-bit my D-Dad because he n-needed braces.” She was confusing him with her strange words. He didn’t know the words and it made him feel stupid. He disliked that very much. “They are used t-to straighten c-crooked teeth,” Granger explained with patience.</p><p>“Then why didn’t you have braces?” The question was out before he had time to stop himself. Granger looked at him oddly and Draco cringed. <em>You bloody idiot! One should think you were a barbarian. Madame Archambeau will cringe in her grave. </em>Draco knew it was an unsensitive question, one his education should have stopped him from asking – manners and decorum having been drilled into him since he was a small child. The easy feeling of talking with Granger had made him forget these lessons completely. Draco figured she would be mad – and rightly so – as his question had been rude. She surprised him by laughing her clean, pretty laugh.</p><p>“My t-teeth were bucked, not c-crooked. It wasn’t n-necessary,” she laughed, and Draco was relieved she wasn’t mad.</p><p>“Oh.” Draco didn’t know what else to say. They continued to talk about dentists – Draco had so many questions, and some answers only raised more questions – for the rest of the evening.</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Draco </strong>
</p><p>The Great Hall was almost full. Draco had gotten up rather late. He had spent most of the night in the Room of Requirement, trying different spells in order to figure out what was wrong with the cabinet. The permission slip Slughorn had provided them with had turned out to be so very useful. Every night he would spend in front of the cabinet, mumbling spell after spell, sometimes even drawing runes on the floor in order to figure it out. So far it had been to no avail. He needed to hit the library again. Draco would spend this night reading and researching instead of standing in front of the cabinet. He had spent his time on the cabinet, as he waited for Mother to provide with a bottle of high quality dessert wine which needed to be overly sweet.</p><p>The familiar storm grey owl glided through the air, dropping an envelope in his lap, before landing on Draco’s arm. He fed Shadow some bacon, before it took off.</p><p>
  <em>Draco,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Please be more careful with this set of Quidditch gloves. They arrive at the owlery later this evening. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Love,<br/>
Mother</em>
</p><p>Crabbe and Goyle sat on each side of him, trying to be discreet as they read his letter. They were about as discreet as a mountain troll strolling around Diagon Alley. Draco rolled his eyes at their poor attempts. Draco wondered how long before they would join the Dark Lord – both of them shared his points of view, and both of their fathers were dedicated Death Eaters. It would only be a matter of time before they joined the ranks. Perhaps they were even now preparing for it; they followed Draco around, tried to read his mail, and seemed adamant to know where he spent all of his time. Thank Merlin that Mother knew how to write hidden meanings in her letters. <em>I should bring her a bouquet of flowers. </em></p><p>An hour before meeting up with Granger, Draco went to the owlery. Crabbe and Goyle following closely behind him and panted as they ascended the stairs. It was a cold afternoon at the beginning of October; the sky was grey and ominous, promising a storm, and the wind was hard and cold, making Draco’s robes fluttering in the wind.</p><p>He spotted Potter’s owl, a snow white beauty with golden eyes, though he would never admit so to anyone. Draco thought its name was something with a H. Some of the owls hooted. When he finally spotted Shadow, he sat in a dark corner overlooking the owlery. A small package was tied around one leg. Draco approached the owl, feeding Shadow some owl treats, before untying the package. It had been shrunk down in order to make the load easier to carry. He could feel Crabbe and Goyle’s breath at the nape of his neck. It made Draco shudder in revulsion. <em>For Merlin’s sake take a step back!</em> The package was an oval, wooden box with an unknown stamp on in French. Quidditch supplies had become hard to come by since Quality Quidditch Supplies had closed, the owners disappearing, though Draco knew what had happened to them. Draco waved his wand and the box grew to its original size. Inside the box lay a pair of gloves in black leather of high quality. Draco closed the lid and stalked out of the owlery.</p><p>“What’s your plan for the rest of the evening, Malfoy?” Goyle asked innocently (though Draco could clearly hear how curious he was). Honestly, they were as subtle as Finnigan’s exploding potions. Draco rolled his eyes.</p><p>“I have to brew a potion,” Draco answered in a bored voice. He wanted nothing more than for them to just disappear. Or stop bothering him. Either would do.</p><p>“I can’t believe you have to work with that Mudblood. What a disgrace,” Crabbe sneered, disgust visible on his meaty face. Goyle nodded, spitting on the stairs leading to the owlery. “How much longer do you have to work with that filth?”</p><p>“About a month or so,” Draco noticed they hadn’t mentioned their potion a single time. “How are yours coming along?” Goyle smiled a wolfish smile.</p><p>“We threatened the Brown girl to do it for us,” Goyle said, as if it was no big deal.</p><p>“Yeah, and then threatened her some more if she should tattle to a Professor,” Crabbe added with a shrug. They both looked immensely proud of themselves. It was their luck that the Brown girl was an idiot, she wouldn’t dare to tattle – too afraid of the big oafs. Draco didn’t deign them with an answer, he just kept walking, eventually reaching the dungeons and the Slytherin Common Room. The two boys placed themselves in a black leather couch by one of the windows facing the Great Lake; Draco could see several fish swim by and an unclear mass further into the Lake – it was probably the Giant Squid, it had a habit of gazing into the Common Room, though it did it primarily around the beginning of the school year, as the first years would be frightened. Draco continued to his dorm. Nobody was there and Draco took the opportunity to search the wooden box for its true purpose. Hidden away inside one of the gloves a single, shrunken bottle of very expensive (and very sweet) dessert vine lay. Draco pulled it out, enlarged it, and put it into his trunk, which would only unlock to him and his family’s house elves. He would send it tomorrow by a school owl, using his permission slip to send it at night. He would send it directly to Slughorn’s office, Draco decided. There would be no advantage gained by letting Slughorn receive it in everybody’s view. His plan had finally begun.</p><p>Draco had brought a blanket alongside his scarf, gloves, winter robe, and hat. If Granger was still clattering her teeth, he would offer her the blanket. He supposed that was what friends did. She was waiting for him outside the classroom, leaning up against the wall, and read a book. A heavy old tome, pages yellowed with age, though the leather had been well kept, as it still looked smooth and had a fresh looking sheen to it. As she heard him approaching, she looked up. Her face was blank, not revealing her thoughts. Draco opened the door to the classroom, and, ever the gentleman, allowed her to enter first. Granger put on her winter robes, scarf, mittens, and hat, and sat down in front of the potion and started to stir the nine required times clockwise. And then they had to wait. Draco set a timer, and then sat down. Granger had wrapped herself in a blanket, so Draco chose to sit on his blanket relieving his behind of the cold floor. Even with the blanket she shivered – but thank Merlin that her teeth didn’t clatter. They spent this evening talking as well; Granger shared small stories from her childhood, and Draco told her about Malfoy Manor.</p><p>“Pffft,” Granger tried to stifle her laugh by covering her mouth with her hand, her eyes crinkled and her eyes shone with mirth. Draco furrowed his brows.</p><p>“What’s so funny?” He had been telling her about his grandfather Abraxas, who had imported the first peacocks to the Manor from India. Granger found this tale hilarious; her shoulders shook ever so slightly while she tried to contain her laughter. Draco was at a loss as to why it was funny.</p><p>“Peacocks, really? Your family has three extremely rare, <em>white</em>, peacocks roaming the grounds? Because less couldn’t do? Were they out of Phoenixes?” she laughed. Saying it like that made the whole notion of having the damn birds sound ridiculous as they served no real purpose other than being a showstopper.</p><p>“What can I say? Malfoys like to show off,” Draco shrugged, chuckling lightly.</p><p>“I know!” Granger laughed out loud at that, letting the clear sound fill the room, the sound bouncing of the walls. Draco laughed with her. The simple notion of laughing with someone, a true, genuine laugh, made some of the tension leave his body. He knew it would return with a vengeance the second he lay in his bed, but for now he just enjoyed this simple act and the pleasure it brought him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know that in the books it is supposed to be a mead, but for the sake of this story I chose something else, as I think it suits Dumbledore. I am also aware that white peacocks are not that rare, but they are in my story.<br/>As always, thank you for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Questions and actions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Hermione </strong>
</p><p>The room was still so bloody cold and the blanket wasn’t enough to warm her; her fingers still felt frozen solid, she still shivered violently – though her teeth no longer clattered and she didn’t stutter anymore, her lips were still a blue shade. She cursed the potion again. She had done so daily since the dragon liver had been added. At first the room had been unbearable hot and now it was so bloody cold.</p><p>“How old were you when you had your first incident of accidental magic?” Malfoy asked her suddenly. There had been a comfortable silence between them, so Hermione was startled by the sudden question. She blinked a couple of times.</p><p>“The first incident I remember was when I was five or so,” Hermione said, thinking back and smiling at the memory. “I had just seen Alice in Wonderland-“</p><p>“Seen? Don’t you mean read?” Malfoy interrupted, rolling his eyes at her. Hermione laughed.</p><p>“No, I mean seen. It’s been made into a movie.”</p><p>“A movie?”</p><p>“It’s moving pictures –“</p><p>“A photograph then.”</p><p>“No, not quite like a regular wizard photograph. It’s about an hour long – sometimes even longer –  and with sound, you are able to pause it, rewind and fast forward.” Malfoy had a funny look on his face and disbelief flickered in his eyes. Hermione chuckled. “I’ll show you sometime, yes?” He nodded his head. “Would you like to hear the rest of the story?” He gave her a sheepish look as he realised, he had interrupted her – again – and nodded his head again. “As I said, I had just seen Alice in Wonderland and I wanted to paint our cat like the Cheshire Cat but Mum was very adamant in her saying ‘no’ and I got into a temper. Minutes later the cat walked by and it looked just like the Cheshire Cat. Mum was very confused as you can imagine,” Hermione laughed. Malfoy laughed along with her. She liked the sound of his laugh. It was a deep, clear sound, but definitely masculine. A shame he didn’t laugh more. “Mum told me later, that it wasn’t the first time strange things had happened around the house. When I was still a baby, some of the toys would move from one place to another during the night. My parents always thought that the other moved the things.” Hermione didn’t tell him, that after the incident with the cat, she had learned to control the magic. She could make flowers bloom several weeks too early by the age of eight, and she could make things float by the age of ten. “But what about you? When was your first incident with magic?” Malfoy leaned back against the wall, pulling the blanket closer before he opened his mouth.</p><p>“I was about the same age as you when it happened. I accidentally transformed one of the peacocks into a bush, as it had annoyed me the entire day, following me around, pecking at my arm, and screaming at me. At some point I had had enough, I wanted the stupid bird to shut up and then it was a bush.” He smiled at the memory. “Father realised that a peacock was missing in the evening and searched frantically for the blasted bird the entire night. It wasn’t until early morning that Mother asked me if I knew anything. I feared a proper scolding so I denied to know anything about it,” Malfoy sighed.</p><p>“So how did they find out?” Hermione giggled. She could picture it in her head.</p><p>“Father noticed a bush out of place, and he called Willow – the house elf who takes care of the gardens – and was about to scold the poor creature because of the misplaced bush, when I confessed. I was shocked when he smiled and started to praise me,” Malfoy shook his head. “They threw me a party to celebrate that I wasn’t a squib.”</p><p>Hermione would never be able to understand how the value of a person depended on their ability to do magic. It was so foreign to her, but she supposed it was because she wasn’t an heir to a wealthy and powerful Pureblood family. Fate had been kind and spared her the pressure.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <em>Four days later</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>Hermione </strong>
</p><p>Ron gave her a confused look. Hurt flickered over his features before it was gone, and he gave her a hard gaze. Hermione had avoided to kiss him ever since that day on the alcove almost a week ago. She had – admittingly – declined his requests to spend time together, seeing as she was just so busy with the potion, homework, prefect duties, and S.P.E.W. Hermione had felt guilty when Ron had morphed into Malfoy during their kisses, and she couldn’t bear it. How could she imagine someone else when she was kissing the person she had yearned for, for several years? It was just wrong, and Hermione felt so bad about it. She had been sure that she loved Ron, so very sure that they belonged together; he would loosen her up, make her relax, and laugh, and she would make him concentrate, make him try harder. She had been <em>so sure</em>. She wasn’t so sure anymore. She had doubted herself since she had kissed Ron, and Malfoy had taken his place in her head. She had been so confused. She refused to acknowledge the obvious answer. Hermione certainly didn’t fancy Malfoy. Merlin forbid! They had just become friends but a few weeks prior. She couldn’t fancy him. And especially not when she was dating someone else. Hermione was <em>not </em>that kind of person!<br/>
And once again Hermione had to decline Ron because she had to brew the potion with Malfoy. He had asked her if they could take a walk outside at the shores of the Great Lake. Ron had never taken her declines well, but this time was different, Hermione could tell by the hurt look on his face, and the anger lurking in the depths of his blue eyes.</p><p>“I’m sorry Ron, but I have to meet up with Malfoy when classes are over,” Hermione had answered, offering him an apologetic smile and shrug.</p><p>“Again? Merlin Hermione, you spend all your bloody time with him,” the accusation clear in his voice. “You never have time for me.”</p><p>“Sorry, it’s just five more weeks while we brew the potion.” Hermione tried to soothe him.</p><p>“It’s like you would rather spend time with him than with me!” Hermione didn’t like his tone of voice and she bristled.</p><p>“What? How dare you insinuate such a thing! Merlin, how many times have I said this already? This is for school,” Hermione snapped. But the truth was that she enjoyed spending time with Malfoy. Very much so. The more she got to know him, the better she thought of him.</p><p>“If you don’t want to make time for me, then perhaps I should spend time with someone who notices me,” Ron had snapped at her, then turned on his heels and stomped out of the Common Room. Hermione watched him leave in astounded silence. She was rooted to the spot, unable to move by her surprise at his outburst.  Hermione felt like she should be sad, her boyfriend had just dumped her after all, but she found that she didn’t feel sad at all. She only hoped that their friendship wasn’t ruined. Ron had been her first friend along with Harry, and Hermione wasn’t sure if she could bear the thought of losing him. They had done everything together since that Halloween in 1991, they had been inseparable ever since, overcoming every danger they had face, together. She couldn’t lose Ron; sweet, gentle, funny, brave, loyal, quick to anger and just as quick to calm down Ron. She just couldn’t. Just as she couldn’t lose Harry either. They were some of the most important people. They had a special place in her heart, and her heart would break in thousands of pieces if she were to lose one of them. The mere thought was unbearable and made sharp staps of pain pierce through her heart. Hermione pressed her lips into a thin line at the roiling emotions. She pushed them away for now, vowing to mull things over later that night in the private her bed provided and headed for the second floor.</p><p>Hermione sat on the cold floor clutching the blanket as close to her shivering body as possible. Hermione thought of Ron’s accusation; that she would rather spend time with Malfoy than with him. She immediately denied it. Of course she would rather spend time with her <em>best friend</em> rather than Malfoy, a fairly new friend to her. Yet, that was the problem wasn’t it? She had just thought of Ron as a friend rather than her boyfriend. <em>Would I rather spend time with Malfoy than with Ron? </em>She gave herself time to really mull over the question. As Hermione thought about the two men, she couldn’t help but compare them. Ron was easy to laugh, while Malfoy was a more serious personality. Ron was fiercely loyal, Hermione supposed Malfoy was loyal as well towards his family. Ron was brave, he would die for his friends without thought, and Malfoy… she wasn’t sure, she didn’t know him well enough. Ron wasn’t able to challenge her intellect, Malfoy was more than capable of challenging her.</p><p>The question repeated itself. <em>Would I rather spend time with Malfoy tan with Ron? </em>She couldn’t answer the question.</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Draco</strong>
</p><p>Weasel had started to snog the Brown girl; they were going at it everywhere and it was rather revolting to witness. It had looked like Weasel was trying to eat her face, while Brown sucked his face off. Draco remembered how Brown had seemed to hover near Weasel since the end of their fourth year. Seeing them sit together in the library made Draco’s stomach turn. He could feel bile rise and so he looked away from them and continued on his way to his favourite table. He was surprised that Weasley and Brown had ended up together, as Draco had believed that Weasel fancied Granger. And that Granger perhaps fancied him as well. The realization had hurt at the time, but Draco had eventually come to turn with it; he and Granger would be impossible seeing as he was now a Death Eater and she was a Muggleborn. A small part of his mind whispered that, perhaps it wasn’t as impossible as it had seemed. Granger and Draco had formed a friendship against all odds, and Weasel had lost interest in Granger. A small flicker of hope flared to life in his chest, one he desperately tried to strangle. He was unworthy of her. Unworthy of her friendship. Unworthy of her kindness and pretty smiles.</p><p>Granger sat at their favourite table with Potter working on some essay. Granger and Draco would meet up in a couple of hours to stir the potion. Potter cast some weird glances Granger’s way, but she didn’t notice as her head was buried in a book. Her teeth tugged at her bottom lip. Draco wished she would stop doing that, it was driving him mad. Draco tore his eyes from her, it wouldn’t do well to stare at her. I was an unnecessary risk. A risk he couldn’t afford to take. Mother, Father, and Granger would suffer the consequences. If the headmaster would just die, then Draco would be able to breathe as it would ensure the safety of his parents. Draco was frustrated that Slughorn had yet to give the bloody wine to Dumbledore. He got more and more desperate. Time was ticking by and Draco could only watch as he approached judgement day. No, he needed to concentrate. He pushed away the thoughts and buried himself in the book in front of him. He needed to figure out how to make the cabinet work.</p><p>Time flew by, and the next thing he knew, Granger walked past him, saying something about the potion to Potter who walked besides her. He startled looked at the clock, and it indeed was time for him to meet up with Granger. He didn’t look forward to sit in the cold room again. They had only managed six of the twenty days sitting in the cold, and even though the temperature was constant, it felt like it had dropped a few degrees every day. When he met up with Granger in front of the classroom she had already donned her winter robes, hat, scarf, and mittens. They went in and sat down in front of the potion. Draco wrapped himself in his own winter gear and pulled the blanket around him. Granger had found her blanket too and wrapped it tightly around her. She shivered quite violently and had done so for a couple of days. Her blanket wasn’t enough to keep her warm. Her lips were blue, and she had curled herself up like a ball, trying to preserve some of the body heat. Draco chewed on the inside of his cheek. Would she reject him if he offered to share his blanket? He wouldn’t know if he didn’t ask, but the thought of being rejected didn’t sit well with Draco. He was proud and not used to rejection – usually he rejected others, not the other way around. If he tried to conceal his worry with annoyance when he asked her?</p><p>“Come here, Granger, your shivering drives me crazy” Draco said and invited her over to join him under his blanket. She looked hesitant, like she hadn’t heard him or perhaps she was just contemplating whether or not he meant it. “Merlin, just get your ass over here before it freezes off,” he laughed. She scooted over ever so slowly and kept her distance to his body. He could still feel her body heat though. Her shivering stopped almost instantly, and she sighed in relief (a pretty, blood boiling sigh which was pushed into the box after he had relished the sound for a few extra seconds).  </p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>“You’re welcome.”</p><p>It was bliss to have her so close. Every cell of his body was humming, he felt like he might be able to fly without a broom underneath him. The sweet smell of her was drifting to his nose, summer rain and roses. His heart felt like it would break free from his ribcage, hammering away like a Golden Snidget’s wings. Despite the cold his palms felt warm and soon began to sweat. It was bliss. It was torture. The sweetest kind there is; like a sweet poison. He wanted more, but knew it to be impossible but still he couldn’t help himself; he snatched on every opportunity to be closer to her, to hear her speak her mind, to see her. It would kill you in the long run, but right now Draco didn’t mind it. She was agonizing close – closer than she had ever been but it wasn’t enough. He wanted more, so much more.</p><p>She didn’t notice, but Draco crept closer.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Hermione </strong>
</p><p>“What is it Harry?” Hermione had finally had enough. Harry had starred at her the last couple of days, and for the life of her she couldn’t figure out <em>why</em>. It was driving her insane. He would give her these odd looks whenever he saw her, and if they were working in the library he would sometimes sit and stare at her for several minutes before he continued with his own work.</p><p>“Are you okay?” Harry looked her over thoroughly, searching her eyes for something with his startling green eyes. Hermione furrowed her brow.</p><p>“Why do you ask?”</p><p>“With, you know, Ron and Lavender,” Harry said, giving her a knowing look.</p><p>“Why would I not be okay with that?” She didn’t care about that. She could only think about Draco. Something in their relationship had shifted. They had started to joke among one another, laughing and sharing stories from their childhood some time ago and Hermione had felt something shift as of late. The air had felt charged, but what it meant she couldn’t tell. She had been so very wrong about Ron and the what had been between them, so much so that Hermione refrained from guessing on her relationship with Draco. Harry gave her an incredulous look.</p><p>“You had started to date. Ring any bells?” Hermione felt her mouth open. How the bloody Hell did Harry know about that? She had thought he hadn’t noticed.</p><p>“How did you – ?”</p><p>“Hermione, you’re my best friends, of course I noticed how you snuck off and how flustered you looked in each others presence.” Harry offered her a grin, lighting up his green eyes. Then he got serious again. “It took some time to connect the dots,” Harry took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Are you sure, you are okay? You know you can tell me anything, right?” He smiled at her, and Hermione felt a lump in her throat. She knew she could tell him anything but the secret she had with Draco. Hermione didn’t trust her voice not to shake so she just smiled at Harry and nodded. Hermione felt bad, she felt like she was lying to him and it made her feel horrible and left a sour taste in her mouth.</p><p>As soon as they were inside the classroom Draco spoke.</p><p>“Rough day?” As Hermione shook her head, Draco lifted a knowing eyebrow at her. “Come on, you can tell me.” Hermione bit her lip. She stirred the potion and set the timer. Draco already offered her a place under his blanket – he had done this every day for the last five days. Hermione had been hesitant at first – did he really think them close enough for this intimacy? At his insistence she had given in and joined him under the blanket. After the first day he hadn’t asked again. He had just held his arm out, offering her a place under the blanket and she hadn’t hesitated since.<br/>
“It’s nothing, really,” Hermione answered. Draco just frowned but didn’t say anything. He didn’t believe her but he respected her decision not to share and she was grateful for it. A burning desire to just scoot over the last few centimetres overcame her. She wanted to feel his arms wrapped around her, feeling the security of a friend’s arms chasing away the worry and the sour taste in her mouth. They were friends, it was only natural to want a hug. She just enjoyed the proximity of a friend and let her mind wander. It was odd; Hermione didn’t even notice when the change in her thought had occurred. He had always been Malfoy, but then, a couple of days ago, she had thought of him as Draco. She hadn’t uttered the words yet, but they were at the tip of her tongue, waiting to be released. Thinking back the change must have happened after they had</p><p>They sat under the blanket together. He had told her of the time he had gotten his first broom, they way he had instantly loved the feeling of soaring through the air.</p><p>Hermione admonished herself. They had just become friends – just because she was used to the physical comfort a friend could provide it didn’t mean that Draco was. Or that he even wanted it.</p><p>But she still crept slightly closer to Draco, nothing more than a millimetre but she felt better all the same, breathing in his now familiar scent of leather and forest.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Hermione </strong>
</p><p>For many nights Hermione had dreamt of the Yule Ball. How her heart had hammered in her chest when she had suddenly faced him. How she had gazed up into his grey eyes which had been molten silver. At some point during their fourth year he had outgrown her by almost a head. She had thought he had looked dashing in his black robes with silver details. How time had seemed to slow down as their hands hovered few centimetres from each other, and how she could feel the warmth from him despite the distance.</p><p>Hermione dreamt of fifth year, his fingers splayed over her stomach and pressing her back against him – the warmth and pleasant shivers the contact had sent down her spine. She dreamt of him often</p><p>Hermione had awoken from each dream with an aching heart. She could feel the ghost of his fingers and hand against her ribs, she could feel the warmth which had radiated from his hand and Hermione’s heart</p><p>Hermione sighed and sat down besides Draco under the blanket. Only five more days, and then they could heat up the room again. Five more days in this freezing room. Five more days until they would no longer share this proximity by sharing the blanket. Five more days. And Hermione regretted it. She wished for ten days, as she had enjoyed these evenings in the classroom under the blanket. Some of the evenings were quiet each lost in their own thoughts, but Hermione hadn’t minded. It had never felt awkward and Hermione had been pleasantly surprised by this.</p><p>Other evenings had been full of conversations and laughter. She had loved these evenings as she got to know him. She had learned, that he cared deeply for his parents and had always tried his best not to disappoint them. Draco loved the library almost as much as Hermione did. He loved potions</p><p>She crept closer to him; she had done so every evening without him noticing, there had always been a few centimetres between them, more than enough space to allow Hermione to creep a few millimetres closer. She wished to be closer, wished to feel his body against her but wouldn’t risk it. Her shoulder touched his, a warm and pleasant electric current shot through her body, leaving behind goosebumps and sent a tingling shiver down her spine. Hermione froze and held her breath. She didn’t dare glance up. She was sure he would be furious by the unwanted touch. Hermione couldn’t hear him breathe, and her heart hammered away. <em>Oh no, oh no, no no no. Did I just ruin everything? </em>She felt him pull away slowly, and something inside her broke at the loss of contact, the warm pleasant current in her body disappeared and she felt cold. How could she feel cold at the simple loss of contact? She felt him shift besides her, and she braced herself for whatever was to come.</p><p>A finger under her chin tilted her head gently, forcing her gaze up, and Hermione met Draco’s storm grey eyes.</p><p>She took in the sight of him. His pale skin and the blond hair surrounding his head like a halo. His features had lost some of the pointiness. His jaw had become strong and more square. His cheekbones were high, giving him an aristocratic look. His nose was straight and he had full lips. And his eyes were like thunderclouds and Hermione could see emotions rolling around in them but was unable to tell which, as they flickered and then disappeared in the depths of his eyes. He was breathtakingly beautiful. The finger under chin moved to her cheek, a featherlight touch with the tip of his finger as he trailed it from her cheek to her lips. Hermione shivered at the touch. Draco leaned in closer so slowly, millimetres at a time, like she was a wild beast waiting to strike him, his eyes trained on her watching for her reaction. Hermione didn’t move, frozen in place as he drew nearer and nearer making her heart race wildly in her chest. He hovered over her lips and Hermione felt his ragged, warm breath on her lips. The cold of the room completely forgotten as her sole focus was narrowed down to Draco. Her own breath mingled with his, she was panting ever so slightly before she leaned closer to him. Draco dipped his head the last few centimetres and his soft lips touched hers and Hermione’s eyes fluttered shut.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N 17/8<br/>I'm going on vacation tomorrow (yay) and won't bring my computer along. The next chapter will be published by the end of this week or the start of next week.<br/>Please stay safe and do what you can to protect other people.</p><p>Much love from Denmark.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Have a little patience</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I’m back!<br/>Thank you all for your lovely comments! I’m so happy you liked the last instalment. </p><p>As always, thank you for reading.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Hermione </strong>
</p><p>Time didn’t exist. It had simply ceased to be. Draco’s lips were achingly sweet against hers. They were soft and careful, like she was made of glass. The hand, which had traced her face with the featherlight touch, had travelled up to her cheek and cupped it gently. Draco’s thumb stoked her cheek in slow circles. Her heart hammered in her chest and her blood coursed through her body along the warmth which emanated from where their lips were connected, setting every cell in her being alight, almost bursting with magic. Softly his lips moved over hers and Hermione couldn’t hold back the sigh which escaped her lips. The sigh spurred him on; the hand on her face travelled to her neck, buried itself in her hair, tugging gently to allow him to deepen the kiss. She complied, opened her mouth to him, and he swept in stealing her breath away.</p><p>His other hand snaked around her waist, leaving behind trails of fire on her skin. He pulled her closer to him and her breath hitched while her hands settled on his chest without a second thought. Draco explored her mouth and Hermione explored him; the feel and taste of him. He tasted like lemon tea and pine. His taste was intoxicating, and she wanted more. Her hands travelled from his chest to his neck to his hair. Her fingers ran through it, and Hermione marvelled at the silken strands running through her fingers.</p><p>They broke apart as they needed air; both panting hard, chests heaving for air. Hermione heard her pulse, blood flowing in her ears and she pulled back from him, putting distance between them once more. She looked at Draco. He panted, his eyes liquid silver and pupils blown wide, and his hair was tousled where Hermione had let her hands run through it. She felt the heat in her cheeks and averted her eyes. She was so terribly inexperienced at this and it made her jittery. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, and they fiddled with the fabric of the blanket.</p><p>“I… uhm… I mean…”</p><p>“Shush, Granger,” he whispered hoarsely and pulled her closer and captured her lips in a mind numbing kiss. Draco placed his right hand on her left hip, drawing slow circles there, while his left hand entangled itself in her hair at the side of her head just behind her ear. He kissed her like he was a starving man and she was a piece of bread, like he had walked in a desert for years without water and she was the only thing which could relieve his thirst. He tugged at her hair again, pulling her head back and bearing her neck to him. He left her mouth, trailing kisses from her mouth to her ear before his mouth travelled down her jaw to kiss her neck. Hermione gasped at the sensation of his mouth and hot breath on her sensitive skin. Draco sucked gently on her neck and it felt so, so good. She wanted him back to her lips, she wanted to feel his impossible soft lips against hers again, but wasn’t sure how to communicate it – she decided to do as he had done in order to make her open her mouth and bare her neck to him. Hermione tugged at his hair, pulling him back to her lips, and he complied kissing his way back to her lips. His lips travelled across her lips, nibbling at her bottom lip, sending shivers down her spine. His left hand which had rested on her hip moved to her lower back, pressing her even closer; their bodies were almost flush against each other, but Hermione didn’t mind, she only wished – <em>needed, desired</em> – he would hold her closer and she sighed again, Draco’s mouth swallowing the sound. He groaned as a response, a sound coming from deep within in his throat and a warm feeling spread through her body, settling in her stomach. The air was charged between them, their magic flowing around them; she could feel the gentle caress of his magic against hers. She had quite forgotten her surroundings, had forgotten the outside world, only one thing remained in her conscious: Draco’s lips against hers. She was completely lost.</p><p>The timer went off, breaking the spell and the moment was over, time had resumed to tick by mercilessly. They broke apart, panting hard. Draco stood and waved his wand over the potion. He glanced at her, and Hermione craned her neck to see him. She worried her bottom lip while trying to discern his facial expression; his lips were swollen, hair a frightful mess, but his face was relaxed, eyes shining with… some emotion Hermione couldn’t name as she had never seen it in the depths of his eyes before. He didn’t say a word, simply offered her his hand to help her up from the cold floor. She placed a shaking hand – <em>why does my hand shake? </em>– in his hand, his long, warm fingers closed around her hand and helped her up. He didn’t let go of her hand. She glanced up at him and he bend down and placed a kiss on her forehead which made her blush furiously. They didn’t say a word, he simply followed her to the door, opened it and let her out first. Once outside the room they made eye contact for a second – his eyes seemed to roam her face – and then he turned on his heels, walking away from her in elegant strides towards the dungeons. Hermione turned as well and walked the other way, towards Gryffindor tower, in a haze.</p><p>Hermione lay in her bed replaying the events in her head. Ron had never been able to coax out these reactions. Her breathing had never hitched like that, her blood hadn’t felt like fire, and her cells had felt like they were bursting with magic. She had never had the desire to be held closer, she had never wanted more. Never like this.</p><p>She traced her kiss swollen lips with her finger.</p><p>The kisses with Draco had felt right and Hermione was surprised by it.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Draco </strong>
</p><p>He hadn’t meant to kiss her.</p><p>He walked to the dungeons unaware of his surroundings, walking in a haze, unable to think of anything but Granger. He had inched closer to her – he had done so every evening – and he had never touched her. And then her shoulder had touched his and sent the firebolts of warmth and pleasure coursing through his body. Draco had stopped breathing as the jolts made his heart skip a beat. Granger, he noticed, had gone still. Something akin to madness had taken over his body. He had shifted to sit across from her instead of beside of her, and he wanted to see her golden eyes. He wanted to gauge her emotions. Draco had put a finger under chin, tilting her head up, forcing her to face him. She had been pale, bottom lip trapped between her teeth, and her golden eyes had been wary and alert. He had no control of himself. And Granger had enchanted him, stolen away his common sense and his self-control, with her beautiful caramel doe eyes framed by the long, dark lashes and her full pink lips. He had hovered over her lips, mingling his breath with her. He had traced the outline of her cheek and touched her lips, and his fingertip was on fire and the fire spread from his finger to his arm and the rest of his body. She had leaned into him – just a millimetre or so but it had been enough to make him lose his self-restraint and he had dipped down – all the while gauging her reaction – and stolen a kiss from her. Her lips had been sweeter than he had ever imagined. She tasted like honey and cherries. How could he ever get enough? How would he ever be able to stop? He had kept kissing her, getting drunk of the taste of her. He knew it was wrong, dangerous, he knew he wasn’t worthy of touching her, but. He. Could. Not. Stop. He had to touch her, had to feel her lips against his.</p><p>Draco had never dared to hope she would respond to him like she had. Her pretty sighs had lighted a fire inside of him; suddenly the sweet, gentle kiss wasn’t enough. He had had to explore her, had to deepen the kiss, had to have a taste of her. He had sucked on her skin, marvelling at the taste of her. His hand had been in her chocolate curls which had been softer than he had ever expected. He was lost in the creature that was Granger. Glorious and magnificent.</p><p>He cursed himself for the weakness, for the lack of self-control. It was so very wrong of him, so very dangerous. How could he be so very stupid? It had been a mistake. A mistake which could prove to cost him dearly. But it had been so good: Granger and her sweet mouth had been able to quiet all the worries, she had been able to lift away the stone which had settled on his heart the moment Potter had returned from the last challenge. When he was with her; he could forget about his mission, he could forget about Voldemort, he could be Draco around her. And he couldn’t afford that. He had to stay focused. Draco still had to kill Dumbledore and he still had to fix the cabinet. He couldn’t get distracted by the wonder of Granger and her reaction to his kisses and touches.</p><p>He needed to calm down. He needed to get a grip, to regain the lost control. He needed to force these memories down the periwinkle box. He had to. Draco had to protect his parents and Granger. He had to protect them. Draco concentrated on his breathing, in, out, in, out, and let his feet carry him to the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room. In, out, in, out – pushing Granger and her lips into the periwinkle box. When he had reached the bare wall in one of the corridors in the dungeons, Draco had calmed himself. Granger was placed in her periwinkle box, and he had reinforced his mental walls.</p><p>“<em>Superbia.” </em>The bare wall started to move, the bricks moving to the side and revealed the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room. The first time Draco had seen it, he had thought of the resemblance to the entrance to Diagon Alley from The Leaky Cauldron. He stepped through the hole and into the abandoned Common Room. The Lake reflected soft moonlight into the room, illuminating the leather couches and armchairs. It was late, and the whole affair with Granger had drained him of energy. He went straight to the dorms. The heavy snoring filled the air. <em>I wish they would learn a silencing spell. They are not that hard! </em>His bed welcomed him, and he buried himself under the covers, not even bothering with removing his clothes – he could still smell the roses – and closed his eyes, letting sleep claim him.</p><p>He dreamt of Granger that night. He dreamt of her soft mouth, the taste and feel of it. He dreamt of her flesh under his hands, her chocolate curls tangled in his hand. He dreamt of her pretty sighs and gasps. He dreamt of the delicious taste of her skin on her throat. She was under him, squirming and moaning. Draco startled awake, heart hammering away and with an erection. He took himself in hand, thinking of his dream, and remembering her taste.<br/>
He had wanted her, desired her, loved her for years now. He had yearned to taste her, to touch her. And finally he had.</p><p>He had tasted the forbidden fruit and he couldn’t – <em>wouldn’t</em> – stop coming back for more. One more kiss, one more touch, one more, one more…</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Hermione </strong>
</p><p>Hermione had barely slept that night. Her thoughts wouldn’t shut up and kept replaying the events that led to the kiss between her and Draco. It had felt so good to kiss him. But now she felt embarrassed about the episode. What had she been thinking? She had just gotten out of a relationship and Hermione did not love Draco. She didn’t. True, she enjoyed his company, but that didn’t mean that she loved him. It had been a mistake to kiss him. One she wasn’t intended on repeating itself. No, this would be the first and only time she would kiss Draco Malfoy. It would be better to keep her distance from him, right? Hermione shifted in her bed, making the bed groan under her and the dorm went silent for a few heartbeats and Hermione held her breath as she waited and strained her ears in trying to hear if she had awoken her dormmates. After a few seconds the snoring in the dorm continued. Hermione reminded herself to fix her bed later. There were still a couple of hours until dawn and the dorm was clad in darkness and shadows. Hermione sighed. It had been such a long night and she knew it would be impossible to find sleep. A nonverbal, wandless Accio summoned her wand to her hand and her fingers closed around the Vinewood; the weight was a comfort to Hermione and she felt the wand humming, waiting for her command.</p><p>“Lumos,” she whispered and flicked her wrist. A light shone from the tip of her wand, bathing her bed in the soft glow. She reached for the book on her nightstand, propped herself up on the headboard, making herself comfortable and opened the book, letting herself get lost in the pages and the knowledge they contained.</p><p>The soft ruffling of bedsheets and yawning burst the bubble Hermione had been in – she had ‘overslept’ and by this time she was usually already sitting in the Great Hall. The dorm was still clad in shadows, though now, instead of black, they were a dark blue. Hermione flicked her wrist and the light from her wand faded just as the light was lit in the dorm, banishing the shadows. Hermione stretched her arms over her head before placing the book on her nightstand. She pushed aside the curtains surrounding her bed. Her dormmates gave her weird stares as this was highly unusual for Hermione. Hermione got up and went to the ‘fresher to take a cold shower in order to freshen her up. As she undressed, she caught a glimpse of her in the mirror and Hermione froze. There, right where her neck and shoulders met, were a hickey! No bigger than a knut and purple in the centre and red around the edges. She just stared at it. Had he really sucked that hard? It had felt so gentle at the time. Her fingers traced the mark.</p><p>“Hermione! Are you going to spend the entire day in there?” Parvati said and knocked on the door.</p><p>“Uhm, sorry! I’ll be out in a minute!” Hermione showered and donned her uniform in record time, glancing in the mirror only to discover the purple mark still being visible, peeking over the edge of her collar and contrasting starkly with the white fabric. Hermione waved her wand and casted a Dazzling charm on the hickey and watched as it faded. Lavender gave her a nasty glare as Hermione exited the fresher – Lavender and Hermione had never been the best of friends as they were so very different. Hermione ignored the other girl and headed for the Great Hall. Harry sat with Ron and Hermione slumped down in the seat next to Ron, ignoring the awkward tension between the two of them. Harry – <em>Godric bless him</em> – ignored the awkward atmosphere as well as he continued to prattle on about something or other about Quidditch. Soon, Ron joined him and a visible flicker of relief crossed Harry’s green eyes. Hermione offered her spectacled friend a small smile before pouring herself a cup of tea, enjoying her friends chatter around her.</p><p>“Hermione, have you gotten anything from Malfoy?” Harry asked and Hermione jumped in her set. She had to keep her hand from flying up to the hickey she had covered up. Was the magic not working? Did it begin to wear off? Hermione felt panicky and fiddled with her napkin. Harry looked at her expectantly, his green eyes observing her and it unnerved him. How much does he know? How could he know? <em>Probably the damned map! Morgana help me! </em>Hermione pondered what to answer, how to explain what he might have seen on the map. <em>Oh that? I just tripped on the ice on the floor and yanked Malfoy with me. And then his mouth landed on my neck… giving me a hickey… </em>Yeah, that would probably work if Harry was three years old. She groaned inwardly. How would she be able to explain herself out of this one? As Hermione didn’t answer he elaborated. “Did he take his father’s place in Voldemort’s army?” Relief washed through Hermione. <em>Thank Merlin!</em></p><p>“I don’t know,” she said. And it was the truth. She didn’t know, but should she take a guess, her answer would be no. He had become friends with her, he had kissed her. Her! A Muggleborn witch. Harry looked disappointed.</p><p>“That’s okay, I know you’re trying,” Harry said and patted her hand. Ron gave her a grunt which could have meant anything, but Hermione chose to think of it as something positive – a small step towards their previous friendship before the whole mess between them started. Hermione wanted their freindship. They ate their breakfasts together and – once Lavender had joined them – walked to their classroom.</p><p>She had managed to forget about Draco until it was almost time to continue the brewing. As she approached the classroom, mere minutes before they needed to head inside, her heart began to race. Hopefully he had been momentarily mad yesterday when he had kissed her. He probably wouldn’t do it again, they were friends and the kiss didn’t mean a thing. It was insignifiqent. Yeah, that was how it was. She need not worry, it wouldn’t happen again – and a small part of her heart ached at the thought, though she couldn’t understand <em>why</em>. Hermione didn’t love Draco. They were friends. Nothing more.</p><p>The second Draco had added the anjelica to the potion and set the timer he turned and faced her, grey eyes glinting at her. His whole facial expressions was of one where Hermione felt like she was a prey and he was a predator and it made her heart jump from her chest and lodge itself in her throat. He took a step towards her, and Hermione took a step back. Draco gave her a lopsided smirk and continued to approach her with a feline gracefulness. Hermione backed away from him not sure what he wanted and swallowed as her mouth had gone dry. Her back hit the ice cold stone wall and Hermione yelped in surprise. Draco closed in on her and her breath hitched and her heart skipped a beat. His eyes were thunderclouds and he slammed his hands onto the wall beside her head, effectively trapping her there. It should have felt uncomfortable, seeing as it would be rather difficult to wriggle away – unless she used magic, of course, her wand burned in her robe pocket and her fingers itched to grab the handle of the wand as her fingers grazed the wood, and use a Petrificus Totalus, but that blasted potion denied her the opportunity and Hermione wouldn’t risk to ruin their hard work. Her fingers abandoned the wood, resting at her sides. She peered up at him, and Draco had a hungry glint in his eyes that made her stomach squirm uncomfortably. They just stood there, staring at each other for several minutes. Hermione became nervous under his scrutiny, those damned grey eyes seemed to read her mind. Her eyes flickered to his lips before returning to his eyes. He leaned towards her. <em>I wish he would just kiss me. </em>What? No! she had – just this morning – sworn that yesterday would be the only kiss shared between them. She did not want him to kiss her. Absolutely –</p><p>His lips crashed down hers and her eyes widened. He had closed his eyes, hiding away the grey, and his lips were soft yet demanding on her. She placed her hands on his chest and pushed him away from her.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Draco </strong>
</p><p>She had pushed him away. He had not expected that based on yesterday’s reaction to his kisses. She had responded in kind yesterday. Hadn’t she enjoyed their kiss? She had sighed, but perhaps it wasn’t a good sigh, perhaps Draco had been too caught up in his own bliss and hadn’t noticed her discomfort. He could feel his brow furrow as he watched Granger’s face with a blush starting to creep up her neck.</p><p>“I can’t – won’t – do this! I refuse. No, this is not who I am, I – ” she kept rambling on, her hands flying to her hair and tugging at the strands. She almost seemed half mad and if Draco didn’t know her, he would have believed she had gone mental. He furrowed his brow while reaching out, holding her chin in his hands. He tilted her chin, making her face him, but it was like she didn’t see him, like he wasn’t even there, as she continued her rambling. “– irresponsible –“ he stopped the flow of words pouring from her mouth by placing a finger on her lips, so soft under his touch. Her eyes snapped to his, hard caramel gazing into his.</p><p>“What’s going on in that big head of yours?” he asked her and removed his finger from her lip, cupping her cheek. She shied away from his touch – something inside Draco broke in small pieces – and he removed his hand from her cheek and chin as if he had been burned. He stepped back from her, suddenly needing the distance between them. His heart thumped painfully slow in his chest. “What, not liking my touch today huh? Suddenly too good for it?” he sneered – she was too good, he knew she was, but it hurt all the same – trying to cover up his hurt feelings at her obvious rejection. Her eyes widened at the change of his tone.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You know exactly what,” he snapped at her. Her playing innocent infuriated him. He had never believed she would have the audacity to deny her dismissal of him. A sour taste spread in the back of his throat. She gave him a confused look, blinking her eyes rapidly.</p><p>“Oh, no, I uhm… I mean…”</p><p>“Spit it Granger, I’m a big boy,” he snarled. She flinched and Draco felt a pang of regret as Granger’s eyes hardened, her mouth a hard line.</p><p>“Screw you Draco! Did you ever think about my feelings in this? Wait, don’t answer, I got this. No, you didn’t. You can’t just kiss people and then expect them to be okay with it. I’m not Parkinson, swooning over your every move!” Her temper flared to life and an absent part of his pondered if she was about to hit him again, but all he could focus on was the fact that she had said his name and it rung in his head. <em>Draco, Draco, Draco… </em>His name on her lips sounded like the sweetest music in the world.</p><p>“Thank Merlin you’re not like that stupid bint!” He couldn’t deny her accusations. He hadn’t thought about her, only how much he had needed to touch her again – had wanted her to chase away his demons and worries by the single touch of her skin against his – and by her reaction yesterday he had thought she had wanted it. <em>That was a miscalculation from my part. </em></p><p>“You can’t even deny it! You are such a selfish git!” Red splotches of anger spread on her cheeks, her hands placed firmly on her hips.</p><p>“What was I supposed to think? You seemed to enjoy yourself thoroughly yesterday,” Draco answered through gritted teeth, his hands held up at his frustration.</p><p>“I did want it! Yesterday!” she roared at him, breathing heavily and her hair was like a lion’s mane, wild and uncontrollable it framed her face. Draco couldn’t help but compare her to a lion, her hair, her fierceness, her bravery, her loyalty, her ruthlessness when it was necessary. She was a lion, and never had a House crest ever fitted anyone as good as it did with Granger. She truly was the Gryffindor princess, the golden girl in the golden trio. Draco watched her as she took in a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds and then released it in a white cloud. “We’re friends, right?” she said more calmly, the red splattering disappearing slowly.</p><p>“Yeah, I guess we are,” he answered, not sure where this went, and he narrowed his eyes at her. Her eyes changed, they softened and resolution took its place.</p><p>“I need this to slow down. It’s going way too fast,” she said, looking him straight in his eyes. Going too fast? What the bloody Hell did that mean?</p><p>“So, you don’t want me to kiss you?”</p><p>“Yes, I mean no… maybe? I don’t know.” Draco furrowed his brow. How could she not know whether or not she wanted to be kissed? Seeing his confusion she took a step forward, towards Draco. She peered up at him through her long dark lashes, caramel glinting up at him. She hesitantly lifted her hand and placed it on his cheek sending jolts of lightening through his body and he inhaled sharply. “I’m not telling you off, I’m asking you to slow down.” He leaned into her touch, savouring the feeling of her warm sunkissed hand against his pale and cold face and he inhaled her scent. <em>Slow down?</em> He could slow down. Draco was sure that he could slay a dragon with nothing but his bare hands if that was what Granger wanted.</p>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Changes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Hermione </strong>
</p><p>His office had a bouquet of lilies with white petals, spreading their sweet scent in the air. They seemed out of place. Hermione had never thought of her former potions professor to be fond of flowers. He didn’t seem like the type who would make sure to have a fresh bouquet in his office. Come to think of it, Hermione had been in his office before, and she had never encountered any flowers – at least she hadn’t noticed any. The bouquet seemed to be the only source of light in the dark and gloomy room. Snape sat in his worn burgundy armchair, fingers pressed together under his chin and he looked down at Hermione from his hooked nose, his dark eyes glinting with annoyance. He had an air about him that screamed murder.</p><p>“Sit.” The command was in an ice cold tone, brooking no argument. Hermione sat down, thinking it would be very unwise to worsen the gloomy professor’s mood. He had been in an even fouler mood than almost a month prior. Today he had been an ominous shadow looming in the classroom spitting out horrid insults like he had written them down and rehearsed them. Poor Neville, he had been Snape’s main target along with Harry. Neville had gone pale and been unable to form a coherent sentence, only adding to the insults thrown his way. Harry had remained silent, but Hermione could see the anger flash in his brilliant green eyes and his jaw was clenched and Hermione could feel his magic rise. Long, narrow tendrils of angry magic starting to lash out towards his least favourite professor, and Ron had been able to calm Harry down by making some sort of bad joke. It had worked though, Harry’s magic had calmed, only surrounding him as a protective vail. Hermione could practically hear him ground his teeth, she could almost hear them creek and crack and crumble to dust, and she would be very surprised if he had any teeth remaining when classes were over. At one point Hermione had been sure he would say something unwise, and she had placed a hand on his, giving it a light squeeze while Ron had scowled at the professor. The tension between the two boys and the professor had been palpable.</p><p>Sitting across from her professor she wondered why he had asked her to stay after classes. His dark eyes were trained on her, his black, greasy hair was like a curtain, framing his face. His penetrating stare made Hermione feel like the professor could read her mind. Perhaps he did. He had tried to teach Harry Occlumency last year after all, and thus Hermione tried to erect some sort of shield, imagining a brick wall an focusing on it, though she had no idea how to do Occlumency as Harry had been dreadful at it and unable to teach her any and the library only had books about the subject in the restricted section. The silence stretched and Hermione felt uncomfortable, fidgeting with her fingers, squirming in her seat.</p><p>“It has come to my attention that you and Mr. Malfoy have formed…” he paused while contemplating the right term, “an alliance,” he finished in a drawl, his face unreadable and Hermione stiffened. <em>Brick wall, brick wall, brick wall. </em></p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she dismissed.</p><p>“Don’t deny it,” he snapped. Hermione neither confirmed nor denied anything, she simply opted for silence, focusing on the brick wall in her mind. Snape seemed utterly unimpressed. <em>Is he using Legilimens all the time? Can he always hear our thoughts? </em>Snape’s lip curled up into a smile at the corners, revealing some of his crocked, yellow teeth. “It’s not at all something I enjoy, let me assure you,” he said with disdain while tapping on his temple with a long finger. Hermione didn’t know what to say. What could she say? Something flickered in the professor’s dark eyes so quickly Hermione wasn’t able to discern it. She thought I was mirth, but the notion was ridiculous. He seemed to regard her for a few extra moments – Hermione kept trying to picture the brick wall, fearing it would be in vain as she couldn’t get her hands on the desired book in the restricted section – before Snape pulled out a piece of paper from a drawer in his desk. He slid the paper across the table, placing it in front of Hermione and then he leaned back in his chair just as sullen as when she entered the office. Hermione glanced at the snip of paper and her heart skipped a beat. There, right in front of her, laid a permission slip to the restricted section. Hesitantly she reached for the slip while casting glances at the professor, expecting him to mock her for her stupidity. When no sound or movement came from him, her fingers curled on the paper and placed it in her pocket. She opened her mouth so say something, to ask <em>why</em> he was giving her this, when he interrupted her. “Now, get out.” Hermione got up and left the office as fast as she could, only to – not run per say, as running in the halls were against the rules – hurry to the library, the slip burning in her pocket. She inhaled deeply when she reached her sanctuary, the smell of leather, parchment, and ink filling her nostrils and sending waves of calm through her system. She walked along the aisles upon aisles of books in the restricted section, letting her fingers trail the back of the books while she searched for the right one. She was lost in her own little world while the pages were turned and the information seeped into her brain.</p><p>Hermione sat in the Great Hall with Harry and Ginny later that day. In a few hours she would need to get up to the potion. The Halloween feast had begun quite early this year, not that Hermione minded. The four long tables were richly decorated with carved pumpkins, miniature skeletons, miniature hags flying around the Great Hall along with black bats, while small acromantula crawling the walls. Wax candles formed as skulls had replaced the normal candles flowing in the air, illuminating the hall as thick, black clouds had obscured the full moon. Peeves was in a splendid mood, at least considering his normal, destructive behaviour. So far he had only had Filch screaming at him three times for moving the portraits from their rightful places to places that had them in an outrage: a prominent former Slytherin (several hundred years old, blood supremacist to a worrying degree) who had discovered the beneficial effect of boiled fairy wings had been placed outside Hufflepuff’s Common Room, making the old wizard scream in outrage and disdain every time he saw someone from Hufflepuff entering or leaving their Common Room. Other paintings had been placed inside loo’s making both portraits and students scream alike. It had been chaos, and the mirthful laughter from Peeves could be heard all over the castle. Hermione could see Peeves floating around the Great Hall – he rubbed his hands together and had a mischievous glint in his eyes. Seconds later a small explosion could be heard and – raising her eyes to the Ravenclaw table – could see a poor third year student having her food explode, covering herself and nearby students in food. Peeves howled with laughter, and some from the Slytherin table laughed aloud as well. Contained chuckles were heard from the remaining tables, while Filch started to yell at Peeves, clenched fists raised towards the poltergeist. Professor McGonogall raised an eyebrow at the Bloody Baron and seconds later he swept towards Peeves, before both disappeared. Hermione flicked her wrist under the table and the students were cleaned from the food, and after a few seconds it was like the incident had never happened, and the students looked around, trying to find the person who had helped them. Hermione didn’t need her wand nor to say any charms in order to perform these kinds of spells, nor did she want to retract any attention towards herself, nobody needed to know she had this kind of ability.</p><p>The food was creatively constructed; the dishes looked like something out of a horror movie. The house elves of Hogwarts had outdone themselves and Hermione hoped they would be rewarded for their hard work. Harry only poked at his food, barely eating anything. His face was blank, not giving way to any emotions. Hermione, however, knew her best friend and could see the sad glint in his eyes. Hermione knew this night was hard for him, though he didn’t want to show it. For Harry this day was a day of sorrow. For Hermione though, this was a day of celebration. On this day, five years ago, she had made her first ever friends. Her best friends. Her brothers. Halloween had become her favourite day of the year, and every year she thanked every deity that Harry and Ron had saved her from the troll. She pressed her lips together in a hard line. She casted a glance at Ginny. The redhead shared a knowing look with Hermione and Ginny shrugged her shoulder, apparently at a loss as to how to cheer up Harry too. Ron strode in with Lavender in tow. Hermione waved him over, giving him a look which she hoped screamed ‘Harry needs cheering up’. Ron furrowed his brow and Hermione nodded her head in Harry’s direction. Ron’s eyes darted between Hermione and Harry a couple of times before he seemed to understand. He turned and said something to Lavender, pecking her on the cheek before joining Hermione, Harry, and Ginny at the table by sitting beside Hermione. Hermione was grateful that Ron was trying to make it less awkward between them, seemingly wanting to remain friends. Ginny glanced at the trio before standing up and joining some of her dormmates. Hermione and Ron communicated for a few seconds without uttering a single word. They knew Harry needed cheering up.</p><p>“What’s up mate? Did Dobby do a horrible job at preparing the food?” Ron tried to joke, though his attempt fell flat as Harry laid down his fork and just stared at his food as if it had offended his ancestors.</p><p>“You can tell us Harry. You can tell us anything,” Hermione ventured in a soft voice. She hated seeing her friend in this emotional state. Green eyes flicked between brown and blue, and the glow in Harry’s green eyes broke her heart a little.</p><p>“I don’t have to tell you. You already know.” Both Hermione and Ron nodded, and Harry adverted his eyes again. The silence stretched, though it never became awkward – it never did, as the friends could enjoy the company of each other without the necessity of words. Hermione scrambled her brain for something to say that would cheer Harry up a bit. She could tell him why this day was special to her. It could backfire, but somehow Hermione knew that it wouldn’t.</p><p>“Do you know what happened on this day as well?” Hermione asked and placed a hand on Harry’s. Harry raised his eyes and looked at her, and she could see he tried to remember. After a few seconds he shook his head, glasses sliding down his nose a bit, and he pushed them back in place when a wide grin spread on Ron’s face.</p><p>“How can you ever forget?” he laughed, only causing wrinkles to appear on Harry’s forehead. “Today, five years ago, Quirrel ran into the Hall screaming about the troll in the dungeons. And you got the brilliant idea to warn miss Know-It-All over here,” Ron said affectionally, jabbing Hermione softly in the ribs making her laugh.</p><p>“Yeah, that’s right,” Harry answered with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.</p><p>“And since then we couldn’t get rid of her. I swear, she’s stickier than Snubble’s Permanent Sticking Charm.” Though the words could have been cruel, they were said with so much affection that Hermione couldn’t help but laugh. She could see that the mention of Sirius had struck a tender nerve with Harry as he still grieved over the loss of his godfather, though he tried to hide it by offering a small laugh.</p><p>“How do I know you didn’t decide to stick on to me?” Hermione deadpanned, though mirth bubbled in her at the bickering between the two of them, and she suspected it was quite visible in her eyes.</p><p>“Oh, forgive me your highness. Would the Gryffindor Princess mind if I sit here?” Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. She detested that nickname as it sounded like people were mocking her, and Ron knew it, only using it when he was teasing her. The undesired nickname had taken root sometime during first year, as Hermione had earned the majority of the House Points singlehandedly, but Hermione had only learned of it by the end of first year when Bulstrode had been bullying her.</p><p>“Oh shut up, Ronald,” Hermione tried to sound stern, but the giggle which escaped her lips ruined the effect.</p><p>They kept bickering for a while in good nature, smiling and laughing. Ron’s blue orbs glinting in the candlelight.</p><p>“Point is mate, we’re here for you. You are stuck on us,” Ron concluded, patting – though a bit rougher than patting – Harry’s shoulder.</p><p>“Yeah, thanks guys,” he said, and smiled a small but real smile, one that reached his eyes, chasing away the ghosts of the past.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Draco</strong>
</p><p>“Where are you going, Malfoy?” Draco supressed a groan as Crabbe and Goyle called out to him. Draco was on his way to the Room of Requirements, having discovered some spells he wanted to try out. He wouldn’t have to meet up with Granger in a couple of hours, and thus he would use this opportunity to work on the cabinet which could give him more time to research later. He glanced behind his shoulder, the two boys hurried towards him. They were an impressive sight. Though Draco was the tallest of the three, the two of them was nearly twice as wide as him, weighing nearly forty kilos more than Draco. Both had wide shoulders, thick necks, and their arms were thick ropes of muscles. They had a few kilos in excess on their stomach, but nothing to take away the intimidating appearance they both had. As they walked towards Draco with heavy steps, they reminded him of mountain trolls. Draco kept walking, although he slowed his pace in order for them to catch up. <em>Have to keep up appearances. </em>They caught up to him and Goyle placed a heavy hand on Draco’s shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. <em>Probably stole someone’s chocolate frogs,</em> Draco thought drily.</p><p>“Nowhere.”</p><p>“You’ve been so secretive this term,” Crabbe complained. “Why don’t you tell us what’s going on?”</p><p>“Fuck off.” <em>Leave me alone.</em></p><p>“We know you’ve joined the Dark Lord,” Goyle had lowered his voice, but not enough, his voice still too loud as the art of whispering had been lost on him. Goyle might as well have shouted.</p><p>“Shut up, you daft idiot!” Draco hissed at him, searching the corridors for any sign of life. “You’re lucky this corridor is abandoned or I would have hexed you for your supreme stupidity!” Goyle visibly paled at the threat.</p><p>“Sorry,” he mumbled in a shrill voice. Draco was annoyed. He had told nobody of him gaining the fucking smear of cursed ink on his arm – he still used the ointment Mother had given him, but the Mark was still red and swollen, though no longer burning and itching. Draco knew that Crabbe snr. and Goyle snr. were both Death Eaters, who had both fallen in grace. Had they been stupid enough to tell their children and asking them to keep close to Draco in order to gain their lord’s favour?</p><p>“How do you know anyway?” Draco asked.</p><p>“Father told me and I told Goyle,” Crabbe answered and sounded somewhat proud. Fucking idiot. “Can we see it?” His eyes alight with greed and he licked his lips. Draco narrowed his eyes. <em>Bloody Hell. Not only do they resemble mountain trolls, they are as thick too.</em> Draco didn’t deign to answer such an idiotic question. Sensing Draco’s rising ire they both went quiet, following him through the corridors. After some minutes, Draco spoke up.</p><p>“If you want to help,” both boys nodded their heads eagerly and Draco continued, “then I need you to keep watch for me on the sixth floor, making sure nobody comes near the east wing corridor.”</p><p>“What are you doing there?” Goyle asked.</p><p>“None of your fucking concern,” Draco sniffed. “I see no Mark on your skin which gives you the right to know what I’m doing.”</p><p>“Yeah yeah, all right then. How long are we going to stand and keep watch?” Draco, who had picked up the pace, smirked.</p><p>“Until curfew I think. Don’t wait for me,” he answered. He dumped the to idiots in a corridor on the sixth floor and used a hidden passageway which lead back to the main staircase. He soon found himself in front of the bare wall, thinking of the room he needed and walked past it three times. A heavy set of doors of old oak appeared and Draco slipped inside.</p><p>The spells didn’t work. Draco didn’t know what to expect, but he hated the fact that nothing had worked yet. He rested his head against the dark wood of the cabinet. He needed some sort of result, something which would placate the Dark Lord. And time was slowly running out. In seven weeks it would be time to return home for the holiday, something Draco most definitely did not look forward to. He had spent several weeks already, trying to fix the cabinet but to no avail. It had been a waste of precious time, time he didn’t have. He needed to act.</p><p>Draco decided that if Slughorn didn’t give Dumbledore the bottle within the next month, Draco would have to take action. One month, and then Draco would set another plan into motion. During the month he would have to double his efforts on the cabinet. He needed some progress.</p><p>But he wouldn’t get any tonight. He sighed and straightened, smoothing down any wrinkles in his button up shirt, before grabbing his outer robes which laid on the floor, discarded while he worked on the cabinet. He snuck out of the Room of Requirements when the coast was clear and headed to the second floor.</p><p>She waited outside the classroom.</p><p>They got inside and the second the door closed he grabbed her hand, placing a tender kiss on the back of her hand, making a pretty flush colour her cheeks. She wasn’t used to this kind of treatment; Draco could tell by her flustered reaction. Hadn’t she and Krum been a thing back in fourth year? Hadn’t he treated her like a lady? Or had everyone – himself included – misjudged their relationship? Perhaps they were only friends? It didn’t matter, Granger was here, with him. Draco dropped her hand and added the anjelica. Draco sat down on the cold floor and invited her to join him under the blanket which they had shared for a couple of weeks. He had thoroughly enjoyed it, having her close, and in the end it had let him to kiss her and they had started… something between the two of them. Draco couldn’t quite name the thing, as they weren’t dating, nor were they friends anymore. Courting was perhaps a suitable term. He had been too straight forward and as a response she had asked him to slow down. She sat down gracelessly, tugging at the blanket. As she settled on the floor next to him, she pulled on her mittens. He dared not wrap her in his arms, but he scooted closer so that their shoulders touched.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Hermione </strong>
</p><p>Draco never spared a glance in her direction outside the classroom where their potion was brewing. It was like she didn’t exist. She hadn’t expected it to change, it had been his condition to their friendship. Hermione had had a foolish, childish even, hope that something would change. Not much, but a little. Like, he would glance at her. Or catch her eyes. But he acted like he didn’t see her, like she wasn’t even there. And even though Hermione had known that nothing would change, it hurt nonetheless. Especially when he would be so tender in the classroom, always greeting her with a light kiss on her hand, always making sure she would be warm and comfortable, always <em>just </em>touching her shoulder with his, always ever so careful to take it slow and make Hermione comfortable.</p><p>Hermione had practiced some Occlumency, though she had only had the book for a couple of days. There had been several techniques as to how to organize ones mind; boxes, an ocean, caves, a labyrinth, a garden and on and on the list went, describing how to picturise each technique and how to organize thoughts, feelings, and memories. Hermione had opted for the bookshelves with thousand upon thousands of books – it had been almost poetic. How could she choose anything but the bookshelves when she adored books? She had spent the first night she had had the book in reading it. She read all night after the potion had been left to simmer, devouring the pages and the knowledge they held. The second night she had spent in trying to organize her mind into bookshelves. It had been difficult, demanding full concentration and sweat had pearled on her skin, making her hair damp. The process of turning her mind into a library with shelves (empty for now) had been painstakingly slow and exhausting.</p><p>Hermione wiped her brow with her sleeve, casting a cooling charm on her clothes. She closed her eyes again and concentrated on the library. Constructing it, forming it, deciding on how the aesthetic should look like. Which wood would be used, should there be any details carved into the wood, how high should the shelves be? It may not be necessary, but Hermione did so nonetheless, as she was a woman who appreciated details. Hours ticked by where Hermione was merged in her own mind. A buzzing broke her concentration and her eyes flew open. The shadows in the room had gotten longer and darker indicating the sun beginning to set. Hermione had spent her entire Saturday and Sunday inside her dorm, meditating and organizing. She stretched her stiff limps which ached after having been in the same position for hours. Hermione rubbed her thighs loosening some of the tension in them. In an hour she would meet up with Draco to add the anjelica and stir the potion. Hermione’s stomach made an odd flip and anticipation filled her. Hermione glanced in the mirror. Her hair was a mess, which she saved by piling it on top of her head in a bun, and her skin was clammy. Hermione stripped and showered, washing away the sweat. Clean and dried of she dressed herself in simple muggle clothes, jeans and a sweater. She grabbed her winter robes, hat, mittens, and scarf. Hermione left the girls dormitory, waving at Harry and Ron who sat in the Common Room playing wizard’s chess. Both waved back, eyes quickly darting back to the game in front of them. Hermione had always been rubbish at wizard’s chess, Ron had tried to teach her on multiple occasions but she had never mastered the game as Ron had. Hermione could beat Harry and some of her Housemates, but Ron was the uncrowned king of wizard’s chess. Hermione gave the portrait a light push and it swung to the side, revealing the staircase on the other side. Hermione walked through the portrait hole and descended to the second floor. Draco waited outside the classroom, clad in what she presumed was his casual clothes, though Hermione wouldn’t call it casual at all. It resembled a suit; black trousers and jacket with a shirt underneath, and Hermione guessed the fabric was something luxurious and expensive. Hermione couldn’t help but think that he looked gorgeous, standing there in the corridor in his black suit and having a halo surrounding his head. He didn’t even spare her a second glance and opened the door, letting her enter first – as usual. Inside the classroom he grabbed her hand and kissed it, making her stomach flutter – as usual. Draco let her hand go and added the last of the anjelica and stirred the potion counterclockwise and then gracefully sat down and – true to previous evenings – offered her a spot next to him, sharing his blanket. And, true to previous evenings, Hermione accepted, flopping down next to him and he immediately scooted closer. Fairies fluttered in her stomach. Why was she so nervous? They had done this several nights and… her heart had hammered away there as well, her palms had been sweaty, and her mouth had been dry, making it hard to swallow. Hermione realised that nothing had changed regarding her own physical reactions. Except that she was more nervous now, more… something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. It fluttered away from her grasp whenever she was close to defining it.</p><p>She often dreamt of the Yule Ball, of her pretty blue dress and the stretched moment with Draco where it seemed like time had ceased to exist entirely.</p><p>It was weird that the memory had always been special to her, but now it had become something so very precious to her. Back then, her heart had been hammering away when he suddenly materialized before her during the dance, and she had had a rational explanation; he had been her bully and thought himself superior to her, of course she had been nervous at the prospect of dancing with him! But now she wasn’t so sure anymore. She hadn’t liked him back then, by no means. But it had been the first time where he had been civil towards her, no rude remark, no sneer on his face, no disgust visible in his eyes. She had had his rapt attention and he had had this unreadable emotion in his eyes. Perhaps the dance had been the first step towards their friendship and now this… relationship of sorts. How everything had changed.</p><p>Hermione didn’t know what to say to him. Ever since she had asked him to slow down, she had felt flustered in his presence, and being completely unable to start a conversation with him. It annoyed her to no end. It had been no problem to talk with him before the kiss. Hermione sighed inaudibly and decided it didn’t matter as she sat there, touching Draco and enjoying the way his presence seemed to calm her.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Draco </strong>
</p><p>A few weeks had gone by and it was now the middle of November. Finally the room was no longer like the Scottish highlands during winter, but they still huddled together, though there was now no use of the blanket. Draco had slowed down and he hadn’t kissed her since she had pushed him away, though he had always greeted her with a kiss on her hand, and the simple touch had made him long for more. They had been talking, even studying together in the classroom while the potion simmered. He appreciated the way her mind worked, how she would suck in her bottom lip when she studied and how she discussed some advanced magic. Draco discovered that her favourite subject was arithmancy closely followed by charms and ancient runes.</p><p>They sat in the classroom, once again waiting for the potion to simmer. Granger sat beside him, and he held her hand, drawing small circles on the back of her hand and had an arm draped around her waist loosely. He had draped his arm around her for the first time some days prior. Granger had been reading a book while sitting next to him. He had watched her while she read, completely absorbed in the pages, eyes darting over the lines. He had wanted her closer, the simple touch wasn’t enough. His heart had lodged itself in his throat when he had lifted his arm, carefully and slowly draping it around her waist in a loose hold. She hadn’t said anything, barely even glanced up from the book in her lap, but Draco saw the small turn on her lips, the pink blush working its way up from her neck.</p><p>Now, sitting there, holding her hand, arm draped around her waist, he was struck with the feeling of familiarity between them. They had conversations like they had always been friends, physical contact was almost normal (at least for him. Draco felt like it was the most natural thing in the world to take her hand and kiss it, though it still sent pleasant waves through his body), she laughed more than in the beginning.</p><p>It wasn’t enough. He wanted more. Needed more. More, more, more…</p><p>A stray curl dangled in front of her eyes, obscuring his line of sight, hiding her pretty doe eyes. He let go of her hand, her warmth felt like a loss, and raised his hand. Draco held the unruly lock of hair between his finger, feeling the softness, before he tucked it behind her ear, leaning in closer. Her breathing had changed, it was shallow and quickened. Granger’s eyes were liquid gold, glinting at him. His hand which had tucked away the curl moved to the nape of her neck where he drew small circles. Draco was so close, so achingly close, they shared the air between them. Draco’s breath had quickened as well, matching her small puffs of air. Her lips called out to him like a siren, begging him to kiss her. And Draco was a weak man in that moment. He leaned in closer, saw how her eyes fluttered close, and his own closed as well the second before touching her lips. Draco felt a shiver run through her petite frame. The kiss was sweet and gentle, and quickly over. She pulled away from him, looking at him from beneath her lashes, shyly biting her lip. Draco raised his hand and touched her cheek and a smile bloomed on her face. He grabbed her by the waist abruptly causing her to yelp in surprise and pulled her closer to him to a point where she was almost straddling him. Granger settled there, never breaking eye contact. Draco studied her for a few seconds. His eyes roamed her face and settled on her eyes. Those expressive, pretty, eyes and he offered her a smile as she hadn’t pushed him away nor tried to admonish him for his brash behaviour. She matched his smile and it was all the encouragement he needed as he leaned forward to recapture her pink lips.</p><p>Her slim arms wrapped themselves around his neck, pulling herself closer to him, and his body reacted to her. Hot waves of desire burned through his veins, pooling in his lower abdomen, making his member twitch. He wanted more of her. His tongue darted out, tasting her bottom lip, coaxing her to open her mouth and allow him to deepen the kiss. She parted her lips admitting her entrance and as he slipped inside of her, and Draco couldn’t supress the groan which forced itself out of his throat at the taste of her. She matched his movements of his tongue. The possessive part of his mind whispered to him, claiming her. <em>She belongs to me. She should be mine. </em>The rational part of his mind reminded him of the danger</p><p>His hand wandered to her hair, burying it in her wild locks. Draco nipped at her lip, eliciting a pretty sigh. His lips wandered from her lips to her jaw and down her neck, where he felt the flutter of her pulse under his lips. He nibbled at her delicate skin there, sucked and kissed, and the most intoxicating sound emanated from her in the form of a throaty moan, sending burning desire through his body and making him hard. How he wanted her. Wanted her underneath him. Wanted to hear her moans and sighs. How he wanted to make her his. He returned to her soft lips, kissing her passionately.</p><p>“You are mine, Granger,” he said in between heated kisses. Sinking his teeth in her bottom lip.</p><p>“Yes,” she sighed while kissing him with a burning passion and his mouth greedily devoured her word. Devoured her.</p><p>
  <em>Mine.</em>
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  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Best Laid Plans</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Reality is knocking on my door and Monday I start my clinical trial (which I’m pretty excited about) meaning that my vacation is over, and updates will be scarcer. This will continue, as I enter my last year of education and will begin to write my bachelor after Christmas. I endeavor to update every other weekend, so the next update will be September 12 or 13, depending on my schedule as I also do sports with matches on the weekend (I’m such a busy-bee sometimes). </p><p>Thank you for reading, and I hope you will enjoy this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Draco </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>There was someone here. Draco could feel it in his bones, feel it as the hair on his arms stood on end. He stared down the empty and dark corridor of the west wing in Malfoy Manor. There. There were a movement. Draco squinted his eyes, trying to make corridor clearer, sharper to him. There was movement again. And the shadows came to life, writhing and squirming they reached for him with long, sharp claws. His body froze; his throat constricted and cold sweat broke on his forehead, his body trembled as he felt the cold coming from the shadows. The cold emanating from the shadows seeped into his flesh, all the way into the marrow of his bones, and made his breath come out in white clouds. It took him a second but then he ran. He ran as fast as he could, heaving air down his lungs. It felt like his lungs were on fire, the air felt like sandpaper and his heart felt like it would break free from his chest, hammering so fast, sending blood through his system. The sweat ran down his face getting in his eyes and burning them. His clothes were plastered to his body. And he kept running. Faster and faster, making him heave for air and his lungs were burning. Something caught his leg, sending him flying through the air, landing hard on his stomach and knocking the air out of his lungs making him snap after air. </em>
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  <em>Out of the shadows slithered an inhuman form, more snakelike than man; he had no legs, only a snakes tail, he had a human torso with sinew arms, covered in pale scales, and ended in claw-like fingers with long, sharp, yellow nails. And his face – Merlin, his face – was covered in the same scales as the arms, there was no nose, only two slits in order to breathe and no ears. The eyes were a glowing crimson. The long teeth were yellow and sharpened while the tongue had been elongated and forked. The monster in front of him flicked his tongue, tasting the air, tasting Draco’s terror. </em>
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  <em>“You thought you could hide her from me?” it hissed. The monster flicked his wrist and Granger appeared from the shadows. As pretty as always with her wild chocolate hair, caramel doe eyes, full lips, and high cheekbones. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Draco, where am I? What’s going on?” confusion evident in her voice as she looked around, trying to discern her surroundings though she had never been in the Manor before.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Shhh, don’t be scared,” he whispered – lied – trying to sooth her, but his voice quivered, and his stomach felt like lead. His mouth was dry and swallowing felt like he had just swallowed sandpaper, painful and scratchy when he tried.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You are a disssssgraccce to your family. You ssssshall watch your filthy little Mudblood die tonight,” It hissed and with a movement so quick Draco didn’t see it, he slit her throat. Granger’s pretty eyes widened in surprise and terror, her hands shooting up to her throat, clutching at it desperately as her blood poured out, crimson rubies clinging to her skin, her clothes, and her hair. Draco screamed, agony tearing at his vocal cords as tears streamed down his face. He reached for her, trying desperately to get to her knowing he could do nothing but hold her, but the cold shadows held him back with their cold claws. He watched the life seep out of her, too fast but still so excruciatingly slow as he watched her die. The light which had captured his interest died in her eyes, and she stared at him unseeing while her body went limp. And still the crimson rubies flowed onto the floor. Draco fought the shadows, clawed at them, screamed at them. His nails split down the middle, sending jabs of pain up through his arm. He barely even noticed it. He didn’t notice how the blood began to drip from his nails.  No, no, no, NO! He screamed until his vocal cords were ruined.</em>
</p><p>Draco startled awake. His heart hammered away, and he felt wetness on his cheeks. He swiped furiously at his cheeks, removing the wet trails. He was covered in a layer of sweat and his nightclothes were plastered to his skin, making it itch despite the fine quality of the fabric. His throat felt sore and raw, like he had been yelling. Or screaming. <em>Thank Merlin I ward of my bed with silencing charms. </em>He stared down at his arm wearing the ugly mark. It was still red and swollen at the edges which made the mark look infected, but it wasn’t painful anymore as Draco made sure to use the ointment Mother had given him. The snake on his skin wiggled and Draco wished he could just burn the thing off of his skin. He couldn’t sleep anymore, too anxious to relax. He knew she was unharmed, it had only been a dream but he needed to make sure she was all right. He couldn’t storm of to Gryffindor Tower as he didn’t know the password, nor would it benefit the careful image he had built – an image he couldn’t afford to lose. Not now, not when people he cared about was in danger. There was nothing else to do than to stay in bed and wait. There were still a couple hours until it was acceptable to get out of bed. <em>This is going to be Hell. </em>Every second suddenly felt like an hour, and it was excruciating. Draco could only try to breathe and meditate and reinforcing his mental shields.</p><p>As soon as possible Draco tossed aside his covers and sprung to his feet. Storming of to the ‘fresher to make himself ready for the day. The cool water washed away the night’s terror, removing the layer of dried sweat.</p><p>He stormed out of his dorm even before Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, and Zabini had removed the sleep from their eyes, and he could feel their quizzical stares sent in his direction. He was the first to arrive in the Great Hall and he sat down. While reading some homework he poured himself a cup of tea – lemon, with one teaspoon of honey. And then he waited for Granger to arrive.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Hermione </strong>
</p><p>Hermione lay in her bed, tracing the invisible lines where Draco’s mouth had been a few hours earlier with her finger.  Lips, her jaw, neck, lips again, to her ear… she sighed, remembering the feeling of his lips against her skin, the way she had shuddered under his touch, the way her blood had been burning and her magic thrummed with energy and desire. Hermione had felt the desire start to pool in her lower abdomen, how she had felt hot and restless. Hermione had felt an ache between her legs, and she had needed something more, some friction or she would go mad. How she enjoyed these kisses, the way he seemed to worship her, the way pleasant shivers ran down her spine, the way he was able to awaken her desire. Just as Hermione had plucked her courage to explore him, he had stopped. Draco had shifted underneath her while replacing her in his lap and – because she was inexperienced – she had feared she had done something wrong. He had kissed her cheek, mumbling something about not getting carried away. She had tried so hard not to feel like he rejected her, but it stung like rejection anyway. Which was ridiculous as she had asked him to slow down a few weeks ago, and he was just trying to comply by her wishes.</p><p>The ache had not subsided by any means. Almost to the contrary. As Hermione lay in her bed she was still overcome with desire, something she hadn’t been for a long while. Nonverbally she cast an extra silencing spell. With her hands she cupped her breast through the top she used to sleep in. Her nipples were taut and Hermione closed her eyes as she flicked her thumbs over them, imagining Draco’s long, elegant fingers teasing her breasts. One hand, his hand, slipped down from her breast, caressing her skin as it continued south. The hand slipped past the waistband and explored the slick at the mount of her legs. In her mind, Draco’s finger slipped in between the curls, finding the bundle of nerves which made her toes curl. Hermione wondered and she wondered how his mouth would feel on her most intimate of places and she felt the tell tale tension start to build up in her body. She imagined he would kiss her there with his soft lips. Hermione began to climb up, chasing her pleasure, as it was atop a mountain. Draco would use his tongue on her, making her squirm and moan. She kept climbing higher and higher. Her breathing was fast and shallow while the finger teased the nerves, imagining Draco’s mouth instead of her finger. Climbing higher still. The other hand, his hand, pinched at the nipple. Still she climbed. A flick of her finger, and –</p><p>She fell over the edge, shattering at impact, as waves of pleasure rolled in her body, making her hips buck against her own hand. Her vision had gone white at the edges, and a silent moan formed her mouth in an ‘o’. Hermione could her own pulse as the waves subsided and her breathing normalized. She was so very tired and soon sleep took her.</p><p>The buzzing in her dorm pulled Hermione out of a dreamless sleep. She blinked several times in rapid succession and she pulled the curtains from her bed, feeling entirely confused.</p><p>“Merlin Hermione, you’ve never slept in like this before. Are you ill?” Fay asked. Though they had never been close – Hermione wasn’t exactly close to any of her dormmates – Fay had always been very attentive to all of the girls whom she shared the dorm with. Hermione offered her a small smile, as Hermione appreciated the concern showed by the gentle natured girl.</p><p>“Oh, I’m fine, thank you. Just got a little late brewing the potion,” she yawned for emphasis. Fay just nodded and turned to her friend, Melanie, with her hair of fire. Hermione got up, showered, and went to the Great Hall, meeting up with Ron and Harry in the Common Room, both of them quite startled by seeing her at this time as she usually had been up for about an hour at this time. Hermione just shrugged and followed them to the Great Hall, laughing at the story Harry told them about Zabini. Zabini had insisted that they start multiple potions, making sure that at least one of them would be good enough. By brewing several potions, it meant that no potion was more advanced than what could be brewed by a sixth year. One of the potions had failed last night, and turned into some sort of slimy jelly, which had – though only for a few minutes – come alive and crawled out of the cauldron, leaving behind a trail of slime, and attacked Zabini as he had added the wrong ingredient. Zabini had fought the living mixture for the few minutes it was alive, and when it ceased to be, it returned into a liquid – a foul smelling one, which had made Harry howl in laughter when Zabini had shrieked when the slimy jelly had attacked, but it was nothing compared to the shriek of outrage which had escaped the tall Italian when he had been soaked by the liquid. Both Hermione and Ron laughed along. Ron and Neville had opted for something simple – still sixth year level, but simple. So far there was great progress in their potion.</p><p>“What about your potion with Malfoy?” Ron asked. <em>Sure, it’s great. We started dating, by the way. Hope you don’t mind?</em></p><p>“It’s fine. A couple of weeks and then it’s finished,” she said, and she could <em>feel </em>Harry’s next question. “No Harry, he hasn’t told me anything.” Her green eyes friend looked visibly disappointed. <em>Perhaps I do possess the Sight, </em>she thought ironically. Divination, pff. What a waste of precious time.</p><p>They arrived at the Great Hall, bustling with noise and movements – and this was why she was always up early – and tried to find an empty spot for them to occupy. They slumped down, both boys mindful of her preference of sitting with her back against the wall, and started their breakfast chatting quietly amongst them.</p><p>Hermione felt someone looking at her. It sent unpleasant shivers down her spine and made the hair on her arms stand. She felt a prickling in her neck, something which usually happened when she was being observed. Hermione put her goblet of pumpkin juice down and lifted her eyes slowly. She tried not to be too obvious while she searched for the person who observed her – it was lucky for her, that she always sat facing the other tables in the Great Hall, making it easier to gaze around the Hall. She had made it a habit during her first year, when people used to prank her because she was a bookworm or because of her unmanageable hair or her teeth. Her gaze continued to wander. No one from Hufflepuff was paying her any attention nor did anyone from Ravenclaw. That only left Slytherin. She found him easily enough, his hair was a beacon and drew – demanded – her attention. And sure enough, his eyes were fixed on her. Which confused her. Draco never, as in <em>never, </em>payed her any attention outside the classroom. What confused her even more was the flicker of relief she saw on his handsome features as he seemed to scan her, before his face turned into the blank mask she had come to know quite well. They held eye contact for a few seconds longer until Zabini appeared besides him, slumping down in his seat, making Draco turn his head in Zabini’s direction. Hermione tore her eyes away from the insignificant scene and concentrated on her food, thinking no more of Draco’s odd behaviour – maybe he had been daydreaming. It was probably nothing.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Draco </strong>
</p><p>Zabini made quite the noise when he sat down beside him. The moment he sat down, Draco smelled something foul, like rotting fruit or garbage which hadn’t been removed. Draco scrunched his nose, resisting the urge to gag.</p><p>“What the fuck man? You reek!” Blaise shot him an angry glare. Draco wondered what had happened. The stylish Italian was always impeccable, never a wrinkle on his clothes, never a hair out of order, always smelling like he came fresh from a shower where perfume was the soap.</p><p>“I showered. Six times!” he almost shouted at Draco, clearly very angry, though Draco suspected not at him. Zabini stared (glared to be more precise) straight ahead, and, following his gaze Draco saw Scarface.</p><p>“What did Potter do?” Draco was sure that soon there would be an accidental burst of magic, setting the green eyed idiot aflame, if Zabini’s heated glare was anything to go by.</p><p>“The moron messed up the potion on purpose,” Zabini complained. Though Draco knew that Scarface wasn’t the most skilled student in potion – except for this year, apparently – he didn’t believe that he would ruin a potion on purpose. It didn’t fit Potter’s saviour-complex.</p><p>“Really?” Draco drawled.</p><p>“Don’t start with me, man. I swear, he did something to that potion,” Zabini grumbled. Draco just rolled his eyes without Zabini seeing as he was too busy shooting daggers at Potter’s back head.</p><p>“Whatever. What happened then?” Draco was curious, anticipating a rather amusing tale.</p><p>“I added the murtlap brain to the potion, as per instructions and the thing turned this odd brown-green colour and had this foul odour. As it came to a boil the liquid turned into a slimy jelly which came <em>alive! </em>I swear to Salazar’s grave, it crawled out of the cauldron and attacked me! Potter inly stood by and laughed – and tell me that doesn’t sound guilty of messing up the potion! Fucking idiot didn’t even help, he seemed to enjoy himself profoundly,” another glare which could kill was sent Potter’s direction. “After a few minutes the jelly turned to the foul liquid again and soaked me to the bone,” Zabini sniffed, clearly very disrupt by the whole ordeal.</p><p>“You were attacked by a jelly?”</p><p>“It’s not funny!” Zabini directed another heated glare at Draco, as Draco couldn’t contain mirth from showing on his face.</p><p>“Right, sorry,” Draco said sarcastically. “Of course it was a <em>very </em>traumatic experience for you. Poor you, how are you going to live?”</p><p>“Fuck you,” Zabini snarled.</p><p>“Get in line, Zabini, but do me a favour and take a proper shower,” Draco answered and winked at him, only making red splotches appear on Zabini’s olive skin. Zabini’s nostrils flared as he turned on his heel and stormed of, stomping the whole way out of the Great Hall. Draco’s shoulders trembled with the effort of not howling in laughter.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Draco</strong>
</p><p>He was plagued by nightmares, each more vivid than the other.</p><p>In some dreams Granger was mutilated by that vile pet snake the Dark Lord was so fond of. It would hiss and the strike, sinking its teeth into her flesh, ripping screams of pain out of her, only for it to start swallowing her whole. In other dreams Fenrir, loathsome creature with no shred of humanity (not unlike the Lord he served), got to her, and his chin would be coloured a crimson red by her blood, staining the carpets of the Manor, while Granger lay before him torn into shreds and blood would be caked into her wild curls. Other times she was tortured by the Dark Lord himself for hours and her screams filled the room. The torture would be going on for hours and hours, until she went insane, no longer recognising anything or anyone – the fire in her eyes had died as she had vanished. And she still kept screaming. The screaming made Draco’s ears ring and when he awoke, he could still hear her screaming, the echo of the horrible sound rummaged in his brain. Sometimes he would discover her rotting corpse in the rose gardens by the big orange roses, which smelled just like her hair. Other times his Mother would be killed as well – either by the hands of the Dark Lord or by his Father’s hands, while Father sneered <em>Bloodtraitor </em>at Draco. Sometimes Father would kill Granger, raise his wand at her trembling, pale form, disdain and disgust visible on Father’s face, his lips pulled back into a sneer and his eyes hard. He would spit insulting words at her, flick his wand and humiliate her in various ways. And when Granger was beaten up, blood seeping from open wounds, tears staining her cheeks, Father would kill her.</p><p>And other times… other times he was forced to hurt Granger; carve her skin, disfigure her, cast vile curses at her, dismembering her, violate her, burn her… those were the worst kind of nightmares. Draco would always startle awake, bathed in cold sweat making his nightclothes stick to his skin and the bedsheets damp, throat dry and raw after hours of screaming, and his face would be wet by tearstains, while his heart ached while his pulse was in his throat. When he awoke from the nightmares where he tortured her, his stomach would roil and nausea so strong would make bile rise and he – for a short moment – feared he might actually retch. It would always take an hour or so in order for him to calm down enough – a time which was spent on controlling his breathing and pushing the nightmares into a box which he hid away in the darkest corner of his mind – to go back to sleep to gain the precious few hours he could manage before a new day would begin. But some days it was impossible to go back to sleep. He would then research the cabinet, while panicking about the time which ticked by relentlessly, as he waited for dawn.</p><p>The dark circles under his eyes had grown more prominent, no longer purple looking but dark grey, almost black. His skin had gained a grey tint to it, making him look ill.</p><p>Draco was brewing Dreamless Sleep potion while he tended to the cabinet. Draco was exhausted as the potion was advanced and demanded his attention and time. And time he did not currently have. It would be another week before the potion would be ready. Another week with these terrible nightmares.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Hermione </strong>
</p><p>Draco looked horrendous. He could be mistaken for an inferius if he had been rotting. He might be. His complexion had always been pale, but he looked sickly, almost ashen. His hair, which had not had its usual shine this term, looked even more mussed. He had long, dark bags under his eyes, making him look sleep deprived. When she glanced at him in the Great Hall it looked like he barely ate which had caused him to loose weight, not a lot, but enough for Hermione to notice how his facial features seemed more prominent, sharper – especially his jaw and chin – while his cheek had become somewhat hollow, casting shadows on his face which hadn’t been there before. Hermione was worried about him, but when she tried to breach the subject he brushed it off, capturing her lips and effectively distracting her from the matter at hand. And when she was laying in her bed at night she admonished herself. How could she be so distracted by his soft lips, that she completely forgot voice her concern and get to the bottom of the case? Tomorrow, she decided, tomorrow she would get to the bottom as to why he looked like Death had breathed him in the neck.</p><p>Sitting in the classroom, waiting for the potion to brew, they both worked on their homework. They had done so before, and while Hermione had always enjoyed to study with him, today she couldn’t find any joy in the act at all. She was too worried about him and she was unable to concentrate on her Herbology essay as the words didn’t make any sense to her. She sighed and closed her book, while shifting so she sat opposite Draco instead of next to him. Hermione took a deep breath and plucked up the infamous Gryffindor courage.</p><p>“Draco, I’m worried about you,” she started. Draco didn’t move his eyes from his essay, only humming noncommittal, scribbling down something on the parchment in his elegant cursive writing. By his complete lack of response she narrowed her eyes at him. “Draco, I’m serious.” Her tone was a tad sharper than intended but it worked nonetheless; his head snapped up and he fixed those damn stormcloud eyes at her.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I’m worried about you,” she repeated, this time with worry lacing her every word. She crossed her arms in front of her chest – if it was to protect herself or to show him how serious she was, she didn’t know for sure. Perhaps a little bit of both.</p><p>“You have nothing to worry about,” he shrugged and, seeming to believe she would let the matter drop that easily, turned to concentrate on the essay he was working on.</p><p>“Don’t I?” she asked sceptically, raising an eyebrow at him and pressing her crossed arms tighter to her chest – she knew now that the crossed arms were to show him how serious she was.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Draco, please, I’m really worried. You seem exhausted,” she tried again, pleading him for answers with her eyes. Perhaps she could help him? If he would just open up to her, she might be able to share the burden which exhausted him so.</p><p>“It’s nothing,” he shrugged and somehow Hermione just knew that he lied.</p><p>“I want to help you. Please, tell me what’s going on.”</p><p>“Come here,” he whispered in a husky voice while leaning forward and reaching for her with his elegant hands. He had the small tug at the corner of his mouth, the tug which usually indicated that he was about to kiss her breathless. <em>Not today you don’t.</em></p><p>“Oh no, you’re going to tell me why you look like you have just been raised from the death,” Hermione said sternly, trying to find the bossy tone she sometimes used against Harry and Ron, while placing her fingers against his lips. Draco pulled back and pouted at her. He actually <em>pouted! </em>It was the most ridiculous thing she had ever seen; proud, aristocratic, Pureblood Draco Malfoy pouting because he couldn’t kiss her.</p><p>“Untie your knickers Granger, it’s just stress. Haven’t slept properly for some time, it’s nothing. It’ll be better soon,” he dismissed while waving a hand nonchalantly, like it was truly nothing to worry about. Hermione narrowed her eyes into two slits. She did not believe him and she opened her mouth to argue, but the look on his face – stern, like this was the only explanation she would get, and somewhat pleading, asking her not to dig into this –  changed her mind and she shut her mouth with enough force for her teeth to clatter. Hermione nodded instead and he approached her again, all smooth movements (like a feline, elegant but deathly), eyes glinting. Hermione leaned into him, kissing him deeply and greedily.</p><p>While her lips devoured him, his hands ran up and down her body. Pressing at her hips, moving to her lower back to pull her closer. Hermione’s hands roamed his body as well. She explored the width of his chest, hands barely touching him, but pressing her fingers against him when the planes would dip or rise. Her hands moved to explore his stomach and arms. Draco was lean but muscular, she could feel the muscles under her fingertips. As Draco’s hand moved from her lower back to her ribcage <em>just </em>under her left breast, his thumb skimmed the underside of her breast, Hermione’s hands winded themselves around his neck and she whimpered into his mouth. The simple touch sent fire through her veins, making her feel alive and sense everything around her. He gripped her tighter as a response, and his tongue traced her lower lip. She opened her mouth and swept her tongue into his mouth, savouring the taste and feel of him. A groan resonated in him, and she felt high as the sound escaped him. It felt empowering to be able to coax such a reaction out of him. Her fingers entwined in his silken strands, tugging at it and letting her teeth sink into his bottom lip. Hermione completely forgot time and place as she let herself get lost in his touches.</p><p>Only a week later he looked better. The ashen hue had disappeared, some of the shine returned to his platinum hair, the dark circles and bags under his eyes had dissipated somewhat, and he had gained weight again, erasing the sharpness of his jaw and chin and filling out the hollowness of his cheeks. He had regained his appetite, or at least some of it.</p><p>Of course Hermione was thrilled to see the improvement, but she couldn’t help but wonder why he had looked worse for wear for so long – and what had brought the change. She definitely did not believe his explanation of stress. Some day she would get to the bottom of it, when he trusted her more.</p><p>Trust, it seemed, was something she would need to earn.</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Draco </strong>
</p><p>“Are you excited for Snape’s lesson tomorrow?” Granger was tugged to his side, Draco’s arm was snaked around her waist pulling her closer to him. His head rested atop of hers and his cheek pressed into her chocolate curls breathing in the roses.</p><p>“No.” Why should he? He already knew the Patronus charm, having mastered it several years ago. And without the help of a Professor. Draco still felt very proud of that achievement, and perhaps it was a magic that Granger didn’t know, which only increased the pride he felt. Granger shifted, trying to pull away from him but Draco only tightened his hold on her, not wanting to let her warmth leave his side. She swatted his arm and he reluctantly let her pull back slightly so that she was able to look him in the eyes.</p><p>“No?” Her eyebrows were furrowed, creating an adorable wrinkle between them, her caramel eyes searched his. “Why not? The Patronus charm is highly advanced magic. I would have thought you would be thrilled to learn it,” she said, and Draco could see the wheels start to turn. He pressed a swift kiss to her forehead.</p><p>“I have already mastered the Patronus charm,” he whispered against her forehead. Granger pulled back even further.</p><p>“What? When?” she asked with surprise clearly visible on her face; eyebrows had been lifted, eyes wide, and her mouth slightly open. Draco chuckled – he mastered a spell which she didn’t. It made him feel triumphant, like he had won some kind of race. Granger had always been on top of every class (except flying) and now Draco had the upper hand.</p><p>“Third year,” he smirked at her. Her eyes widened and he could see the question in her eyes, she didn’t even need to ask. “The rumour was that Potter was able to conjure it, and I would be damned if I would be bested by him. So I taught myself the charm, even managed a corporeal Patronus” he said arrogantly, a sly smile spread on his lips. She just stared at him. Pretty eyes fixed on him. He started to feel slightly nervous under her scrutinizing eyes, and he gave a nervous chuckle. “Don’t look at me like that Granger. It took me weeks to master.” He pulled her close to him again and she allowed it as she nestled back into his side. She didn’t answer him, only hummed noncommittally. Their time was almost up, the potion had soon simmered the required amount of time, before the wand movement and then another long simmer undisturbed.</p><p>“What is it then?” she asked after a few moments of silence.</p><p>“A peacock.”</p><p>“Figures,” she said dryly.</p><p>“What’s that supposed to mean?” Draco faked a wounded tone of his voice.</p><p>“You are just as pompous as the bird,” she deadpanned. “Quite a nice match, actually,” she continued and poked him in the ribs with a finger.</p><p>“You are just jealous because I know a spell which you don’t,” Draco sniffed and caught her offending hand. Granger didn’t answer him, only continued to hum some melody he didn’t know until their time was up. Suddenly he quite looked forward to tomorrow’s lesson.</p><p>Draco sat in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, not paying much attention to the professor in front of him, as Snape tried to teach them when to use the Patronus Charm and the nature of the charm. He was excited to see how long it would take Granger to procure a Patronus. Even more so to see how many others would be able to produce the advanced magic.</p><p>“Now, practice the spell,” Snape said from behind a desk and broke Draco’s reverie. The students around him stood and some began to try the spell, some faint white mist coming from the tip of their wands. Granger, who had been seated at the front of the class alongside Weasley and Potter, stood up. Without blinking she waved her wand and silver shot out from the tip of her wand making a strong shield before transforming into an animal. The animal, an otter Draco realised, floated around the classroom as if it were swimming in a river. It looked so effortless, she wasn’t even concentrating properly, he could tell by her almost dreaming expression. <em>Had she already mastered this spell? </em>He felt an odd mix of pride (his girlfriend just produced a corporeal Patronus nonverbally and without effort at all!) and disappointment (he had hoped he would have the leverage over her for once). He observed the otter for a few moments before letting his gaze wander and he was utterly shocked to see how many students – Dean Thomas among them – were able to produce a solid shield. Even more so that some even managed a corporeal Patronus. Finnigan was furrowing his brow, waving his wand, and muttering the spell. The mist transformed into a slender fox which seemed alert to its surroundings. Draco noticed, that not a single Slytherin had managed even a mist from their wands yet, but the majority of Gryffindor could produce the non-corporeal Patronus.</p><p>Even the talentless Weasel managed to procure a corporeal Patronus; a silver dog ran around his legs, while Potter had managed to procure a stag.</p><p>Draco was sure he had died and gone to some sort of Hell as Longbottom, <em>Longbottom for Merlin’s sake!, </em>managed to make a bright silver shield in front of him. Draco blinked, completely at a loss for words.</p><p>“What’s wrong ferret? No happy memories with mummy and daddy?” Weasel snickered and Potter, who stood behind him, snorted. Draco bristled. He waved his wand, holding on to the memory from so long ago, the day in the snow. <em>Expecto Patronum!</em></p><p>The silver mist shot from the tip of his wand – <em>snow forming into various creatures, a child’s laughter, strong warm hands holding his </em>– and he held on to the memory, concentrating on it, and the mist took form of a shield and then transforming into the silver peacock. It wasn’t effortless for Draco to do the Patronus, perspiration had gathered at his back due to the concentration it demanded from him. But he would be damned if he would let Weasel see the amount of effort it took for him. It flew around his head before landing at his feet.</p><p>“You were saying?” he mocked the redhead who looked visibly disappointed.</p><p>“Probably some nasty memory of you mocking Muggleborns, something only you could find any joy in,” Weasley shot back with disdain dripping from each word. Draco’s temper flared, and he strangled it immediately. <em>Have to keep up appearances.</em> He never let the anger show on his face, having his features carefully schooled into a blank canvas. He didn’t deign to answer the redhead, only smirked at him and cocked an eyebrow, which made Weasley bristle and turn his back on him with clenched fists. Snape rewarded each non-corporeal Patronus five points and each corporeal Patronus was awarded ten points. Snape grudgingly praised the abilities which was shown by the Gryffindors, while he gave disappointed glares at his own House, as he only awarded twenty-five points to Slytherin while Gryffindor earned sixty-five points.</p><p>When they met up in the classroom on the second floor, she had a little smirk tugging at her lips and a mischievous glint in her golden eyes. Draco got the feeling that she had indeed mastered the spell some time prior to today, and Draco narrowed his eyes at her.</p><p>“What the Hell was that?” he asked the second the door was closed behind him and the potion had been set to simmer. Granger just looked at him innocently, blinking up at him through her long, dark lashes, momentarily forgetting the book in her lap.</p><p>“What do you mean?” she asked in a syrup sweet voice. A curl dangled in front of her eyes, and she swept it behind her ear in a fluid movement, which his eyes followed before flitting back to her eyes.</p><p>“You know exactly what I mean,” he accused aiming for a wounded tone in his voice. Granger didn’t buy his act and continued to read in her book, rolling her eyes at him and the corner of her lips turned up. Draco scowled at her. “Why didn’t you tell me you already mastered the spell yesterday?”</p><p>“You never asked,” she deadpanned. Her eyes darted over the pages. “It was rather fun to watch your face today, though,” she continued and caught his eyes – the mischievous glint was back, making her eyes sparkle. Understanding dawned on him. This had been her plan all along. She had planned to surprise him the second he had gloated about him being able to cast a corporeal Patronus. Sneaky little Gryffindor.</p><p>“Clever,” he said through pursed lips. He chewed a bit on the inside of his cheek, pondering his next move.</p><p>“Don’t be mad,” she said and placed the book on the ground delicately. Granger always treated the books like they were something sacred.</p><p>“I’m not. Only wounded by your secrecy,” he whined, the wounded tone back, and he placed a hand on his chest where his is, pulse fluttering in a steady beat under his palm. Draco let himself fall, so that his head would rest in her lap, and placed the other hand on his forehead, feigning dizziness. Draco knew he exaggerated but he didn’t care much. “Tearing my heart into pieces, are you,” he whined in an exaggerated manor, closing his eyes as if he had fainted.</p><p>“Poor you. How shall you live?” she mocked, though he could hear the smile lacing her words.</p><p>“A kiss,” he said and opened an eye slightly. He could see her through blonde lashes, grinning down at him, curls pouring down from her head like curtains and framing her face. He reached up and played with a curl between his fingers. Draco opened his eyes fully, entranced by the single act of touching her hair and being in her lap. Her hand caressed his cheek. He leaned into her touch and she leaned down to him – her unruly hair tickled his face – and pecked him on the lips. He furrowed his brows and pouted at her. “That was terrible!” he exclaimed with renewed energy in his wounded façade.</p><p>“You only asked for a kiss. You should have been more specific then,” she deadpanned, though her eyes glinted with laughter.</p><p>“I have been cheated,” he continued to whine exaggerated, making her giggle. He loved the sound. “Wicked witch,” he mumbled under his breath. The mirth disappeared like snow melting in the sun. Her expression was all serious and for a second Draco got nervous if he had insulted her. Granger dipped her head and caught his lips in a passionate kiss, nibbling and sucking at his bottom lip making all coherent thoughts leave his head. The kiss left him breathless.</p><p>“Still wicked?” she asked with big doe eyes when their lips parted. She panted slightly, her puffs of air tickled his face and ruffled his hair.</p><p>“The wickedest of them all,” he whispered in a throaty voice and caught her lips again.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Draco </strong>
</p><p>Slughorn was too slow. The Holiday was soon upon them, and Draco grew more and more desperate as each day went by. Granger was like a soothing balm on his frayed nerves, but not even she could remove his anxiety completely. At this pace Slughorn wouldn’t give the headmaster the wine before it was too late. Draco pinched his nose and ground his teeth. He would have to do something. But what? He would be required to return home during the holidays, which was three weeks from now, and the Dark Lord, who now resigned in his home like it was his own, expected some sort of progress. Cold claws of panic attacked him. Cold sweat trickled down his spine. Draco suspected he needed to do something drastic in order to kill Dumbledore. Draco had no hope of winning a duel against him, he was a far superior wizard with skills Draco couldn’t even imagine. No, he had to outsmart a genius. Which was ridiculous. What were the possibilities Draco had contemplated several weeks ago? The poison he had tried. That left a cursed object and cursing someone to do the deed. Draco disliked the idea of using an unforgivable and forcing someone to become a murderer, and he – at least for now – dismissed cursing someone. That left the cursed object. It had to be something Dumbledore would like. Yet again Draco was inhibited by his lack of knowledge regarding the headmaster. A piece of garment could be rather suiting as it didn’t require a vast knowledge to know what the man preferred, and one would only have to take a look at his existing wardrobe to know that the man preferred bold colours and downright outrageous patterns. All Draco had to do was to walk into a tailor and buy the most hideous piece of garment and make someone present it to Dumbledore. Though it required Draco to curse the damn piece of garment, and Draco didn’t posses the knowledge – nor the time – to be able to curse it. Draco sighed. <em>What a shame Hogsmeade has no Borgin and Burke’s. Wait… </em></p><p>Draco had visited the beforementioned shop at the end of the summer and… hadn’t he seen a piece of jewellery on sale? It had had a warning, hadn’t it? Draco searched through his memories, opening box after box, rummaging through them. He found the memory in an insignificant looking black box.</p><p>
  <em>Mother stood beside him as they entered the shop. She looked splendid in her midnight blue robes and diamonds dangling from her ears. Her hair was in an elegant updo, revealing her long neck. She held all the grace of a swan floating the water. The shopkeeper, a dirty looking elderly and chubby wizard with dark grey robes, a short, white beard and brown eyes greeted them warmly. When Fenrir entered the shop, the shopkeeper wrinkled his button nose and frowned, only nodding at the notorious werewolf. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“To what do I owe this pleasure, and, might I add, deep honour, Lady Malfoy?” the shopkeeper said in a sugar coated voice. Draco bit the inside of his cheek to refrain from saying something insulting.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I need something which can connect two places without being hindered by wards,” Draco said and held his head high and shoulders square. He was almost a grown man, he needed to act and look like it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“That’s tricky,” the shopkeeper mused, rubbing his chin. “Let me check in the back. It’ll be a couple of minutes. Feel free to look around,” he bowed as he left the room. Draco wandered the shop impatiently. Most the items in the dusty shop were junk. A brightly polished necklace with greenish opals lay on sot velour in a wooden box caught his attention. The silver which held the opals was intriguingly crafted in beautiful patterns and designs. It was a heavy piece of jewellery, with opals all the way around it. The necklace was alluring and he wanted to reach out and touch it. He couldn’t take his eyes from it, and his hand was reaching for it when he saw the warning next to it: Do not Touch. Has claimed the lives of nineteen Muggle owners to date.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It was at this moment, the shopkeeper returned from the back of the shop.</em>
</p><p>Draco put the memory back into the box. It would be perfect. Extravagant enough to catch Dumbledore’s attention. Draco suspected that part of the curse was to allure any beholder to touch it, making it even harder for the headmaster to resist it. It would be perfect. He had to buy the necklace. Obviously, Draco couldn’t <em>just </em>walk into the shop, he had to disguise himself. Polyjuice would take too long to brew, and appearance changing charms were unreliable at best. He would have to buy some Polyjuice or steal it from Slughorn or Snape. Snape was highly unlikely, as he had been furious after it had been revealed that Barty Crouch Jr. had managed to steal from his supplies, and Snape had put extra security wards on his stock. Buying the potion would raise questions and perhaps even suspicion. After all, what need does a student have for Polyjuice Potion? Draco would have to steal from Slughorn. Perhaps he could convince Crabbe or Goyle to do it? They were desperate for his attention; they might do it. But it was such a risk, they weren’t the cleverest and perhaps they couldn’t keep their mouths shut. No, he would have to do it himself. Draco could do it tomorrow when everybody was at Hogsmeade? It was well known among the older students that Slughorn frequented The Three Broomsticks every weekend. It would be the best opportunity in the nearest future and Draco couldn’t afford to wait for a better opportunity. Tomorrow would have to do and, in the meantime, he would figure out who to impersonate and how to get to Borgin and Burke’s and how the get the necklace past Filch and the Secrecy Sensors.</p><p>When the majority of the students had left for Hogsmeade, Draco had watched from the astronomy tower as Slughorn had left for Hogsmeade as well, he had placed a Notice-Me-Not charm on himself and a silencing charm on his feet and started the slow descend to Slughorn’s office, avoiding students and ghosts alike – just to be absolutely sure that no one would see him. Draco couldn’t avoid the portraits, but he made sure to use the corridors with the least amount of portraits, wandering down the halls like nothing was amiss – like he wasn’t on the way to retrieve a potion which would help him kill the headmaster. Draco made it to the office without stumbling into anyone and he discovered no wards surrounding the office. Which was odd and raised Draco’s suspicion. It simply couldn’t be that easy, it was impossible. Raking his brain, Draco tried to remember every ward detecting spell he had ever read about and then performed them. Ten minutes later he had found absolutely nothing. He furrowed his brow, pondering his next step as he heard footsteps approaching. He didn’t have time to hide. His Notice Me Not charm was still firmly in place, and he would have to rely on his luck that he would be unnoticeable to the approaching person. He held his breath as Slughorn rounded the corner, whistling a merry tune, as he neared the door to his office. As Slughorn stood in front his door he muttered something under his breath, something Draco couldn’t hear, and drew a rune on the door with his finger. The rune, an old Persian rune dating back to the fifth century which roughly translated to ‘safe entry’, was drawn in red ink with his finger – no, not ink, Draco realised. Blood. Slughorn had warded his office with runic magic and bloodmagic. The second the rune was finished the edges lit up in a golden hue before disappearing into the wood as if it had never been there in the first place. Slughorn unlocked his door with a heavy set of keys and opened the door – and taking a deep breath to steady himself – Draco followed the professor inside the office, praying to some higher power that he would go unnoticed. Slughorn’s office hadn’t changed since the last time he had been here with the sparkling white wine, except some holiday ornaments adorned the room. <em>Where does he hide his stash? </em>Slughorn continued to whistle while rummaging his office. He was loud and focused on whatever it was that he searched for, giving Draco the perfect opportunity to search his office. He scanned the room and his eyes landed on a dresser with three layers of drawers of elm tree standing in a corner and looking rather insignificant compared to the rest of the furniture in the office. Draco snuck over to the drawer – even though he had the Notice-Me-Not charm over him and the silencing charm on his feet he would take no chances. He slowly opened the top drawer, glancing inside it and seeing only ingredients for potions. Ordinary and easy to obtain ingredients: boom berries, fluxweed, murtlap brain, asophdel flower, armadillo bile, lavender, lovage, moonstone, anjelica herb, dried dittany, beetle eyes, fish guts, dandelion root and so on. Draco closed the drawer. Slughorn stilled rummaged loudly somewhere behind him. Draco opened the next drawer and his eyes widened in surprise. The second drawer contained potions ingredients as well, though these were something much rarer and significantly harder to obtain. Unicorn’s hair, Phoenix feather, bezoar, mermaid scales, gillyweed, fairy wings, unicorn’ horn, venomous tentacula seeds among other things. Draco had never seen such a collection of rare ingredients. It was an impressive collection, though Draco supposed it would only be natural for a potions master to have a vast collection of ingredients at his disposal. Draco closed the drawer, and opened the last drawer, hoping that the last drawer would contain what he sought, and he held his breath. The bottom drawer contained several vials, filled with various liquids in different colours: blue, purple, yellow, red, black… He scanned the drawer. Armotentia, antidotes, Mandrake Draught, Shrinking Solution, Beautifying Potions, Calming Draught, Murtlap Essence, Draught of the Living Death, Essence of Dittany, Skele-Gro… <em>where is it, where is it? </em>As Draco scanned the drawer he became more and more frantic. <em>He has to have it! </em>Panic started to swell in his chest. It bloomed and spread to the rest of his body, making him tremble slightly on his hands. Eyes darting over the various vials, reading the labels while holding his breath. There! His fingers closed around the vial labelled ‘Polyjuice Potion’ and released his breath in a relieved sigh.</p><p>“Aha!” A loud exclamation from Slughorn froze Draco to the spot and went rigid. His mind raced to find a suitable excuse as to why he was standing in his office, hands in his drawer containing potions and ingredients. He couldn’t possibly explain this. No, he was caught in a dragon’s nest. His heartrate had skyrocketed. What if stunned the professor and then obliviated him? If he didn’t obliviate him properly Draco would face expulsion from school. <em>Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck! </em></p><p>“There you are!” Slughorn chuckled and Draco dared to turn his head to look over his shoulder. Slughorn stood by his desk, back turned towards Draco, and Draco relaxed slightly. He still had to get out of there unnoticed. Slughorn held something made from dragonleather – a purse? – in his hands, a drawer from his desk still open. Slughorn moved to close the drawer and, standing in front of the dresser with the open drawer containing the potions, Draco tried to close the drawer at the same time Slughorn closed his drawer. A soft click resonated in the office as both drawers closed. Slughorn resumed to whistle while heading for the door. Draco followed him closely, slipping out of the office as Slughorn fiddled with his keys. Draco swept to a dark corner of the corridor, hiding in the shadows until Slughorn’s steps had stopped echoing through the corridor. His hand had clenched the vial so hard like his life depended on it.</p><p>In a way, it did.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I don’t know about you guys, but the scene with the Patronus’ has been on of my favourite scenes to write. I had a lot of fun with it, and I really hope you liked it (nervous laugh).</p><p>Enough of my blabbering. See you all in two weeks!</p><p>Much love from Denmark.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. A necklace of hope</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So I just realised that I’m not home next weekend (as I have practice all weekend) so I hurried writing this chapter. Though next chapter will be in two weeks however – unless something happens and I will update sooner (though you shouldn’t count on it).</p><p>As always, thank you for reading and commenting. You are wonderful and I’m very grateful for your kind words – they encourage me to write!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Hermione </strong>
</p><p>“Have you gotten the memory Dumbledore asked you to get?” Hermione asked Harry the second she had cast a nonverbal Muffliato. Harry, Ron and Hermione sat at a table at the Three Broomsticks, each drinking their own Butterbeer. Hermione sipped her drink and felt the foam on her upper lip, which disappeared at a flick of her tongue. The Three Broomsticks was bustling with life, each table was occupied by students and inhabitants from Hogsmeade alike. A fire crackled in the fireplace, giving the room an orange hue and made shadows dance on the walls and floors while providing warmth. The atmosphere was relaxed and joyful as the Holidays were soon upon them. The snow outside fell in big, fat flakes, drifting lazily to the ground from a dark grey sky and covered the ground in a white layer of cotton. Hermione had always enjoyed the snow. It made the landscape seem untouched and she thought it was beautiful. She could look out the window and watch the snow for hours, peaceful as it was. They had ventured inside the Three Broomsticks after Mundungus had disapparated. Harry had been seething with anger, his face as red as his scarf. Mundungus had broken in to Grimmauld Place and stolen Sirius’ possessions, which were now Harry’s possessions, though Hermione doubted that the anger was caused by the slight committed against Harry but was because of the disrespect shown against his godfather. Mundungus had barely escaped and Harry had been ready to explode. It had helped to calm him by bringing him inside and get him a butterbeer.</p><p>At her question, Harry gave her a forlorn look. <em>That’s a no then.</em></p><p>“Uhm, no,” Harry said, looking anywhere but at Hermione. “But I did try though,” he added quickly, like he could sense the upcoming admonishment from Hermione. Hermione only narrowed her eyes at him.</p><p>“What happened?”</p><p>“Well, uhm, I tried to charm… I tired to get him to reveal the… uhm, like… you know Riddle…” Harry faltered, unable to form his thoughts into a coherent sentence and comprehension dawned on Hermione. <em>He didn’t! Sweet Merlin, please tell me he didn’t!</em></p><p>“No, please tell me you didn’t!” she exclaimed.</p><p>“Didn’t what?” Ron’s deep voice rumbled. Ron looked at Harry expectantly.</p><p>“I thought that if I went about it the same way Riddle did, he would give me the same information he gave Riddle,” Harry answered Ron.</p><p>“What happened then?” Ron asked.</p><p>“Well he paled. And then he asked me to leave.” Hermione massaged her temples.</p><p>“It was the wrong way to go about it,” Hermione said while sending Harry a stern look.</p><p>“Well thank you for stating the obvious, Hermione,” Harry grumbled, not appreciating her tone of voice at all.</p><p>“How could you not see the disaster beforehand? Of course Slughorn would recognize the attempt to gain information,” Hermione couldn’t stop herself from admonishing Harry. It had been foolish to try the same strategic as Riddle. “He would be nervous at best by the prospect of yet another student seeking information about some dark magic. He probably thinks that history is about to repeat itself.”</p><p>“Yes, we already established it was a horrible attempt, thank you,” Harry snapped. Hermione shot her friend a glare, not appreciating the way he snapped, though she could forgive him as she had been rather harsh on him.</p><p>“What are you planning to do now?” Ron’s question broke the glares between herself and Harry. Both blinked and refocused on Ron.</p><p>“I’m not sure. I tried to apologise, but he wouldn’t let me in or open the door,” Harry sighed and sounded defeated.</p><p>“You have to build up his trust again,” Hermione mused aloud.</p><p>“Brilliant. How?” both boys said at the exact same time.</p><p>“I don’t know. I don’t know him very well,” Hermione admitted. She adverted her eyes, furrowed her brow while sucking in her bottom lip to chew on it, while she contemplated Harry’s options. Apparently his attempts to apologize had been fruitless. Harry couldn’t approach him in class, it could cause a scene and they did not want that. <em>How to go about it?</em> A jab to her ribs broke her reverie. She glanced up and saw Slughorn stride into the Three Broomsticks, snow covered his shoulders and hair and it melted quickly in the heat of the room. If she got Slughorn’s attention he would have no choice than to accept Harry’s apology, right? They were in public after all. It would be a risk, but they didn’t have a choice as Harry needed the memory, and the professor wouldn’t give it to him if he avoided Harry. Hermione made her decision and lifted the Muffliato.</p><p>“Hello Professor!” she called and waved at him while smiling. Slughorn turned and looked pleasantly surprised to see her and made his way towards the table. Ron shot her a glare.</p><p>“Really Hermione? Now is not the time to befriend our Professor!” he whispered harshly. Hermione rolled her eyes.</p><p>“Shush! This could be Harry’s opportunity to apologise and get back into Slughorn’s good grace,” Hermione said through gritted teeth. Harry blinked at her and Ron’s mouth feel open, forming a small ‘o’. Slughorn was at the table when he noticed Harry, who had his back at the professor. Suddenly the happy demeanour vanished and was replaced by one who looked like he had walked into a trap and was standing at wandpoint.</p><p>“Are you shopping for Christmas, Professor?” Hermione broke the awkward and tense atmosphere.</p><p>“Uhm, I… Yes, I am as a matter of fact,” their professor tripped over the words, seemingly eager for the conversation to end so he could escape from Harry’s presence. <em>He really messed this up.</em></p><p>“How wonderful. We were shopping as well when the weather turned for the worse,” Hermione said and gestured with her hands to the windows. Ron nodded along, backing up her lie with little effort.</p><p>“Yeah, we feared we might end up being buried alive out there,” Ron tried to joke and it eased the tension somewhat.</p><p>“I’m sorry about our last meeting, sir. I didn’t mean to offend you,” Harry said while offering their professor an apologetic – and very nervous – smile.</p><p>“Now, now my boy, no need for that. You’re a bright student. Of course you would be interested in something not on the curriculum, though perhaps stay away from the dark magic, yes?” Harry nodded, apologizing again and promising that it will not happen again. “good, good,” Slughorn smiled and clasped his hands together. “You are joining the SlugClub, right?” he asked Harry, and Harry nodded eagerly. Slughorn then turned to Hermione. “You are joining as well, Ms. Granger?”</p><p>“I would be delighted, sir,” Hermione said as she swallowed a mouthful of butterbeer. She wiped her lip with the backside of her hand. Slughorn nodded, seemingly very satisfied with this outcome.</p><p>“Then I suppose I will see you both next week to my Christmas party?” Both Harry and Hermione nodded their consent and Slughorn’s smile widened. As if a second thought he glanced at Ron (a very concentrated look in the professor’s eyes). “Good to see you, Willoughby,” he nodded at Ron and strode up to the bar disk where he started a conversation with a middle-aged man in dark red robes and grey beard. Ron looked displeased to be overlooked like that. Out of the corner of her eyes Hermione saw Katie Bell and her friend, Leanne O’Malley who was a Hufflepuff, enter the Three Broomsticks. Harry waved at Katie and she waved back at them while glancing around, searching for a place to sit. Finding a vacant table near the fireplace they slumped down.</p><p>“Thank you,” Harry said to Hermione. Hermione smiled at him. The trio resumed to chatter in high spirits, laughing and joking. Hermione saw Katie walking past their table and headed for the loo. Justin Finch-Fletchley had approached Harry and asked him to help him with a spell he couldn’t get to work for a Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Ever since last year, former members of Dumbledore’s Army – except Marietta Edgecombe – approached Harry and sought out his help whenever they struggled with Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Harry was happy to help. Harry it seemed, had enjoyed teaching and continued to do so, making Hermione very glad that she had pushed him into accepting the position as their teacher last year, as Harry gesticulated widely with his hands while helping Justin. A soft touch to her arm broke her musings.</p><p>“So, what’s your plans for the Holiday?” Ron asked her.</p><p>“I’ll probably be home with my parents. Are you staying at Hogwarts with Harry?”</p><p>“Oh. Well I had hoped you would join Harry and me at the Burrows,” Ron said, the tip of his ears turning pink. This was an unusual reaction, and Hermione furrowed her brows.</p><p>“I’ll think about it,” she promised, and he gave her the smile which showed of his dimples.</p><p>
  <em>Odd.</em>
</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Draco </strong>
</p><p>Draco bit his lip. He couldn’t go to Borgin and Burke’s as a student. He would need to go as an adult. He stored the vial in his pocket and donned his winter robe and headed for the village near Hogwarts. It snowed heavily and the snow crunched under his feet. Before leaving the castle, he had made sure he brought the vial containing the Polyjuice Potion, an extra empty vial, and his wallet which had been infinitely enlarged with an Undetectable Extensions Charm. He would need to be seen with someone, giving him an alibi. Nott and Zabini wouldn’t do, they would ask too many questions – and Draco suspected that Zabini hadn’t forgiven him for laughing at him during the whole attacking potion episode. He would need his ‘trusted companions’. Though not intelligent, they had their use he would admit. And they had offered to help him – probably got a hard on by the thought of joining Voldemort. Draco snorted. Despite the snow, Hogsmeade was bustling with life. Students walking together in pairs and groups, inhabitants of Hogsmeade strolling down the street, stopping to look at the windows from various shops, all adorned as Christmas would be upon them shortly. A group of singers sung Christmas hymns, all dressed in bright red robes. Enchanted candles hung from the trees, giving the street a soft hue as the light was projected from the snow. A sleigh with a white and brown spotted horse was parked in front of Gladrags Wizardwear. Small bells and pine adorned the side of the sleigh. Small Christmas trees stood here and there, all adorned with golden stars, coloured balls of glass, and silver bells.</p><p>He found Crabbe and Goyle in Honeydukes Sweetshop, selecting a variety of sweets. Draco rolled his eyes. Somethings would never change. He decided to wait outside the shop. Honeydukes Sweetshop had adorned their window display as well. Small figures of gingerbread walked on a street which resembled the streets of Hogsmeade while powdered sugar drizzled down on them. The houses and shops in the window were made out of gingerbread too. They took their sweet time, and many students came and went before finally Crabbe and Goyle stepped outside.</p><p>“Fancy a butterbeer?” Draco asked them, and both boys jumped in surprise as they hadn’t noticed Draco standing outside the shop. They turned around and both gave a wide grin.</p><p>“Yeah, sounds good,” Goyle said. Draco nodded and headed in the direction of the pub.</p><p>He saw the top of her wild curls through the window. She was sitting at a table with Scarface and Weaselbee in the Three Broomsticks, drinking butterbeer and laughing. He longed to do such a mundane thing with her, sitting in an inn, drinking butterbeer, or tea, or hot chocolate or whatever she wanted. <em>Not now. I need to focus.</em> He pushed the thoughts away and into a box and put the lid on. They walked the short distance in silence, the only sound was the crunching from under their shoes and the chatter and laughter from the other students and inhabitants of Hogsmeade. Crabbe and Goyle made to turn to the door of the Three Broomsticks, but Draco kept walking. The Three Broomsticks was too well frequented, too many eyes and chances of being overheard, even if he used a Muffliato it would be too risky. No, he needed somewhere more secluded, not as well frequented. Crabbe and Goyle took a moment to catch up with him again.</p><p>“Don’t you want a butterbeer?” Crabbe asked, notably confused.</p><p>“I do. But not from there. There are… too many people,” Draco answered in a hushed voice and gave both boys a knowing look. Goyle caught on relatively quickly (pressing his hands together gleefully) while Crabbe still looked confused. “Come on man, it’s not that difficult,” Draco snapped. Crabbe only blinked at him, all dopey eyed. “For fucks sake man,” Draco hissed and pointed discretely at his left arm. Crabbe caught on – <em>fucking finally </em>– and smirked. Draco rolled his eyes and continued down the busy main street. They walked away from the main street and the crowd of people thinned the further from the main street they went. The Hog’s Head appeared around a corner; the building was old and looked like it hadn’t been maintained for several years. The sign, a wooded carving of a severed hog’s head, dripping blood into a white cloth, hung above the door. Draco pushed open the door, and the stench hit him like a punch to the gut. It smelled sour – like a barn inhabited by animals – and enclosed. The floor and tables were filthy, littered with dust and grime. Draco wrinkled his nose and ordered three butterbeers from the man behind the desk. The barman, a tall, thin, grumpy looking elderly wizard with chest length grey beard and blue eyes nodded at him. Draco sat back down at the table, which Crabbe and Goyle had occupied. Only a few other tables were occupied, though Draco couldn’t tell by whom as they all wore heavy black robes and covered their faces. <em>Muffliato.</em></p><p>“Do you want us to do anything?” Crabbe asked in a hushed voice after the barman had brought them their butterbeers. The glasses looked filthy, making the amber liquid turn into a greyish yellow. He was most definitely not drinking that.</p><p>“I need you to sit here and cover for me,” Draco started, pretending to sip his drink. Goyle drank a whole gulp of his butterbeer and Draco’s nose wrinkled. “When one of these…” he didn’t know what to call the other guests, “gentlemen,” Draco settled on, “needs to use the loo I will follow, knocking him out and transforming into him, and him into me,” here Draco held up the vial with Polyjuice Potion. “Your job is to make sure that he sits with you. I don’t care how you manage to do it, just do it. I’ll obliviate him upon my return.” He gave both boys an expectant look.</p><p>“Why are you transforming into someone else?” Goyle ventured.</p><p>“None of your business,” Draco answered arrogantly. “When your importance improves, I might tell you more.” No one said anymore after that. The just sat back and drank their butterbeer – or Crabbe and Goyle drank their beers. Draco made small bits of it disappear nonverbally every time he pretended to sip it – while they waited for a guest in need of the loo. After an hour, and a new round of butterbeer, a guest finally got up and wobbled towards the back of the bar where the loos were. After a few moments Draco got up as well and headed the same way as the guest. The loo was even filthier than the pub and it smelled like piss and vomit. The guest was washing his hands, swaying on his feet. Draco raised his wand and waved it, <em>Petrificus Totalus! </em>The guest went rigid as a board and fell to the ground with a loud thump. <em>Shit! Why didn’t I use a Muffliato? Stupid, idiotic</em>. Draco held his breath, straining his ears to hear if feet were approaching. When he didn’t hear any steps, he exhaled. He pulled the hood back. A fairly young man looked back at him, probably in his forties or fifties, but he looked haggard, like he had aged too soon with deep wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. He had a square face with thin, wide lips and a roman nose. Stubbles covered his cheek and chin and he had hazel eyes. Draco procured the vial containing the potion from his pocket, and then a second vial – this one empty – from his other pocket. Half of the potion was poured into the empty vial. One for the stranger and one for Draco. He plucked a black hair from his head and put it into one of the vials and then he did the same thing with his hair. He made the stranger drink the potion first; watching as his skin wobbled and wriggled. The black hair became white, the nose became straight, and the lips plumped up a bit while the hazel eyes became a light grey. It was fascinating. When the transformation was complete Draco downed the content of the other vial. The potion tasted vile, like food gone bad and Draco wanted to retch. The transformation was painful. It felt like something crawled under his skin, moving around his skin and breaking his bones only to replace them. When the crawling sensation had lessened Draco raised his wand again.</p><p>“Finite Incantatem.” The man jumped to his feet remarkably quick considered his intoxicated state. “Imperio,” Draco muttered. Yellow-green mist shot from his wand and ‘entered’ the stranger. Draco felt sick by using the spell, but it couldn’t be helped, and the stranger stood still, looking dazed. He glanced at their clothes and with a wave of his wand switched. The stranger’s robes had an unpleasant odour to it, but Draco ignored it. It was dirty and had been patched up several places. Draco grabbed his wallet and the vials of Polyjuice Potion from his own robes, now donned on the stranger. He pulled the hood up, obscuring his face, and wobbled out of the loo, trying to sway. He placed some sickles on the bar counter and made for the door. Then he bade the stranger to walk out of the loo and settle in the vacant chair by Crabbe and Goyle. Out of sight from the Hog’s Head Draco stopped the swaying when he was sure no one was around.</p><p>All he had to do was find someone with a fireplace connected to the Floo Network. But who would have such a fireplace? He walked down the empty street pondering where to find a Floo. The Three Bromsticks were well frequented and famous across wizard Britain, much like the Leaky Cauldron. His best chance would be there. He only had limited time and quickly walked the short distance to the inn. Though he wouldn’t enter from the side facing the street, instead Draco snuck to the alley behind the inn, facing the Forbidden Forest. Huge bins with trash stood along the walls. Draco found the back door to the Three Broomsticks and walked in.</p><p>Madam Rosmerta stood in the kitchen, preparing some kind of delicious smelling stew, when she heard Draco approach her. She turned on her heel, wand raised and ready to strike –</p><p>“Imperio.” Draco had cursed her before she had turned properly. He hated the way her eyes seemed to fog over and the way her shoulders slumped. “Take me to a fireplace connected to the Floo,” Draco ordered in the stranger’s voice. Madam Rosmerta began to walk towards the staircase which led to the guest rooms. He walked up the stairs which ended in a big room with soft looking couches made from a rich dark blue fabric. Armchairs made in the same fabric were dotted around the room. A soft rug was under his feet, muffling their steps. At each end of the room were a hallway littered with doors. By the wall facing the forest were a fireplace. Rosmerta pointed at the fireplace and Draco summoned the Floopowder with a nonverbal Accio. He stepped into the fireplace after grapping a handful of the powder.</p><p>“Borgins and Burke’s,” he said and threw the white powder into the fireplace, letting the green flames engulf him. A second later he stepped out of the fireplace in the gloomy and dusty shop. The same elderly wizard who had greeted him the last time he had been here, greeted him. Draco brushed off the worst of the sod.</p><p>“Good afternoon, sir. How may I be of service?” the shopkeeper seemed to be suspicious of Draco as his eyes roamed Draco’s form, and Draco couldn’t fault him. The form he had taken was rather sketchy looking. Draco pulled the hood further down, making sure his face was clad in shadows.</p><p>“The necklace, the cursed one, you still have it?” The shopkeeper narrowed his eyes at him.</p><p>“Yes,” he said after a moment of silence “Right this way.” He turned on his heels and walked deeper into the shop. Draco followed suit, keeping a meter’s distance. They walked past several things; human bones, masks which looked ominous in black, blues and red colours, various rusted torture devices hanging from the ceiling, a severed hand which had wrinkled and blackened laying on a cushion, a tall vase of glass with eyes. Some of the things made Draco shudder, like the bloodstained deck of cards, the skulls which had clearly met a violent death. Some of the things oozed dark magic like a fog with fingers, trying to grip at Draco. They stopped in front of the enchanting necklace which already seemed to beckon Draco to touch it. “You sure you have the kind of money to buy it?” He narrowed his eyes at Draco, trying to see past the shadows which obscured his face.</p><p>“Mind your own fucking business,” Draco snapped. “How much is it?”</p><p>“1500 Galleons.” Draco reached inside his borrowed robes and procured his purse.</p><p>“Wrap it up for me. It’s a gift.” The shopkeeper closed the lid and it seemed like the tension left the room, like Draco could relax again, and walked towards the counter to wrap the necklace in a simple brown paper – without the wooden box, the shopkeeper simply levitated the necklace over to the paper and wrapped it up. He finished the wrapping with a black ribbon. Draco flicked his wand and 1500 Galleons left his wallet and placed themselves on the counter in neat piles of ten Galleon a pile, making counting them easy and quick.</p><p>“Thank you, sir, please come again,” the shopkeeper said, suddenly very friendly. Draco rolled his eyes at him, though he couldn’t see, and turned to leave the shop, the package securely under his arm. Draco had spent approximately twenty minutes, giving him enough time to leave Borgin and Burke’s. It wouldn’t do to leave here. He needed the cover of multiple people, coming and going, somewhere where he would go unnoticed, obscuring his tracks. Draco left Knockturn Alley and pulled down the hood in order to not raise suspicion. Diagon Alley was busy as shoppers littered the street, much like the shoppers of Hogsmeade. Some people cast curious glances his way. He looked piss poor, but it wasn’t a crime to be poor. Draco ignored them and continued his way towards the Leaky Cauldron. The arrival room was quite busy, people arriving and leaving through the Floo Network. Draco got in line. As he stepped into the fireplace, he pulled the hood back up.</p><p>“Ministry of Magic.” The green flames licked up against him and sucked him into a void only for him to reappear in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic, bustling with witches and wizards, all busy with whatever their work were. Long rows of golden fireplaces stood on each side of the atrium. The dark wooden floor muffled some of the noise from the hundreds of pairs of shoes, while the rich blue from the ceiling gave the room a relaxed atmosphere. Draco left the fireplace and turned left, towards the golden gates, leading to the elevators, where flying pieces of paper darted through the air, flying in or leaving the elevators. While walking with the flow, blending in, towards the golden gates he was heading towards the right side of the atrium, where he stepped into the first fireplace he met once he had reached the right side, and green flames engulfed him again.</p><p>Draco stepped out of the fireplace, back at the Three Broomsticks. Rosmerta was gone, and Draco found his way back to the kitchens while he brushed of the sod from the robes. He waited for madam Rosmerta to return to the kitchen. She returned some time later, still dazed in her mannerism though her eyes had cleared of the fog. Something unpleasant clenched Draco’s stomach as he realised, that he would need the cast the vile curse again.</p><p>“Imperio,” he said quicker than Rosmerta could act in her current state. The green-yellow mist seeped into the older witch, fogging her eyes over and making them less vibrant, more… dull. He felt the bile rise in his throat and swallowed several times in order to force it down. “You will take this package and give it to the first Hogwarts student to use the loo. You will give that person the package and force the student – use the Imperius Curse or whatever – to deliver it to Filch, telling him it’s from you.” Rosmerta nodded in a detached mannerism. Draco asked her to repeat her mission, and, once satisfied that she got it right, gave her the package and left the kitchen. Soon the Polyjuice would loose its effect and Draco needed to get back to the Hog’s Head</p><p>Draco had opted to give the package to the Squib, and, even though he possessed no magic, hoped that he would be able to sense the dark magic which emanated from the necklace and take it to Dumbledore. If the janitor decided to keep the necklace however, Draco would have to break into his office, something extremely difficult, and to Draco’s knowledge, something only the Weasley twins had managed, and send the necklace to the professor by using a school owl.</p><p>Crabbe and Goyle sat at the table where he had left them, the stranger sitting between them, drinking a beer or mead – it was hard to tell as the glasses were <em>that </em>filthy. Draco didn’t acknowledge them. He still had some minutes before the Polyjuice would stop working, and he walked past the table and the stranger who looked like him. Draco pulled out his wand and hid it in the robes. He headed towards the loo, and as Draco walked past the stranger impersonating him, he flicked his wrist and muttered the Imperius curse under his breath. Draco continued his way to the loo, making the stranger follow him a moment later. They both transformed – the painful feeling of something crawling under his skin overtook his senses – into themselves and Draco swapped their clothes with a flick of his wand. Draco pointed his wand at the stranger.</p><p>“Obliviate,” he whispered and focused on deleting the episode from his mind, replacing it with drunk blackness. He walked out of the loo as the stranger blinked in confusion and Draco returned to his seat between Crabbe and Goyle.</p><p>Now all Draco had to do was to wait.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Hermione </strong>
</p><p>They walked back towards the castle, laughing and in high spirits. The snow still cascaded from the dark sky in fat flakes, thought the wind had picked up and whipped them in the face. The snow on the path had been trampled many times. In front of them Katie and Leanne walked. They seemed to argue based on Leanne’s body language, though Katie seemed oddly stiff in her movements and detached, like someone else had taken over. Ron made some joke about Umbridge – foul, loathsome woman – and Harry and Hermione had howled with laughter, making her stomach hurt as the bubbles of laughter escaped her.</p><p>The scream pierced the air, making the small hairs on her body stand on end and her heart stopped beating for a couple of seconds. The three friends froze, laughter dying on their lips and in their eyes as they saw the source of the scream. Katie was on the ground, and Leanne stood by her, seeming utterly perplexed and then Katie was floating in the air gracefully, two meters above ground, like invisible strings held her up. Even her hair was floating, like she was under water. There were peace and quiet for a heartbeat, making the scene seem serene. Then Katie opened her mouth.</p><p>Katie’s screams were horrifying. They tore through the air and cut through her bones, making chills spread through her body and something unpleasant – wet and slimy and cold – ran down her spine. She stared with wide eyes at the nothingness in front of her, unseeing of the world in front of her, as the screams ripped from her throat, high pitched and full of terror. The wind whipped Katie’s hair into her face.</p><p>Leanne cried and screamed, trying to reach her by jumping and grapping hold of her leg, seemingly to pull her back down. The trio was frozen to their spots for a second before they kicked into action, running the short distance to Leanne and Katie. As they reached Katie, they grabbed hold of her leg as well, and the invisible strings holding Katie up was cut, she fell from the air. Ron and Harry only just managed to catch, but she writhed so violently that they were unable to hold her, and they opted for placing her on the ground. She laid in the snow while violent convulsions ran through her body. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Hermione crouched at Katie, placing a hand on her shoulder. Tears streamed down her face, almost freezing over the second they escaped their confinement.</p><p>“Stay here! I’ll go get help,” Harry yelled over the screaming and the howling wind and ran back towards Hogsmeade.</p><p>“I told her not to touch it,” Leanne cried, not directed at Ron or Hermione, but more at herself. On the ground laid a beautiful necklace lay halfway out of the brown wrapper and in the snow. The necklace had an intricate pattern in silver and had encased several opals with a green sheen to them. Something was off about it. Hermione felt like it called to her, beckoned her to touch it. She blinked and shook her head, trying to snap out of it. <em>What the bloody Hell is this? </em>That the necklace was cursed was obvious, but who would curse Katie? Ron, Leanne, and Hermione tried to calm Katie, but she didn’t seem to recognize them.</p><p>“Get back” a deep rumble came from behind. Hagrid stepped towards the scene and Hermione, Ron, and Leanne stepped back from the cursed girl on the ground. “Let me ‘ave a look at ‘er!”</p><p>“Something happened to her,” Leanne sobbed, “I don’t know what…” Leanne was unable to finish her sentence as her crying and sobbing made it hard for her to breathe and talk properly. Hagrid stared at Katie for what seemed like an eternity – but was probably no more than a few seconds – before kneeling down on scooping up the screaming girl and sprinting back towards the castle. After a few moments Katie’s screams had died down as the distance was to great to carry her screams, and the only sound was the howling wind and Leanne’s sobs.</p><p>The terrified girl needed some comfort and Hermione wrapped her arm around her gently, giving the shaking girl a light squeeze. Leanne leaned into the touch. They asked the girl in Hermione’s arms how Katie had gotten the package, who had given it to her. Leanne knew nothing except that Katie had emerged from the loo with it and that she had seemed adamant on giving it to someone inside the castle. Who, how and why was unknown, though Leanne was probably right about Katie being under the Imperius curse.</p><p>Harry picked up the eerie jewellery with his scarf, careful not to touch it.</p><p>“We have to show it to Madam Pomfrey,” Harry explained and the students scurried back to the safety of the ancient castle.</p><p>Professor McGonogall looked horrified and was visibly shaken, something Hermione had never seen on her stern professor before, and it made cold claws of terror rip at her body. The colour had drained from McGonogall’s face upon seeing the necklace.</p><p>“It was Malfoy,” Harry said as they walked back to the Common Room. Hermione was shaken by the events. Who would do such a thing towards a student? Harry seemed adamant in continuing the argument he had had with Professor McGonogall. He had not been happy by her dismissal and he clearly wanted to continue the discussion. Hermione was not in the mood however, and tried to ignore him and Ron as they made way to Gryffindor Tower.</p><p>“Yeah, it has written Malfoy all over it, slimy git,” Ron agreed readily.</p><p>“What makes you think that?” Hermione asked absentmindedly.</p><p>“Oh, come on Hermione! Malfoy is nasty and always seems to be involved whenever something bad happens,”</p><p>“So just because he is a bully that suddenly qualifies him for cursing someone? Even trying to kill someone? Merlin, he is not a murderer.”</p><p>“His dad is a Death Eater, not to mention his psycho aunt,” Ron said, gesturing wildly with his hands. “It only makes sense that he would join too.”</p><p>“By following that logic, Sirius should have been a Death Eater too,” Hermione bit back and regretted it the second the words escaped her lips. What an insensitive thing to say! Harry didn’t seem to notice however and kept ranting about how Draco was somehow capable of doing something like this. Merlin, Hermione would <em>know </em>if the was capable of doing something like this, as there was no way she could ever l– Hermione stopped that train of thought before it finished. She liked Draco. Very much so, and it would kill her, if he had cursed Katie.</p><p>
  <em>Draco isn’t the one who has done this. He can’t be.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Not a lot of Dramione (sorry) but this chapter is needed in order for the plot to progress. I hope you liked it anyway.<br/>And I know that the whole episode played out in October in the books, but I really liked the contrast of late November/early December (sorry, not sorry).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Cracks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So I’ve been sick the last couple of days and it was the perfect opportunity to write. I therefore present this chapter a few days earlier than expected.</p><p>I struggled with some parts of this chapter. The flow wasn’t really there – I hope you won’t notice it as much (nervous handwringing). I must confess that I’m not at all pleased with these bits and I might go back and change them. For now, however, I’ll leave them there – please do give feedback on this chapter, I think I might really need it.</p><p>As always, thank you for reading.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Draco </strong>
</p><p>The Great Hall was in a silent uproar, heated whispers and glances at the Gryffindor table which seemed oddly quiet. Normally there was always some sort of spectacle going on, though it had dimmed somewhat after the twins had left Hogwarts, but this morning it was eerily quiet; every Gryffindor sat down quietly, whispering among themselves, concentrating on their food. Even the ghosts seemed to be affected by whatever was going on, whispering among themselves high in the air, and it made chills run down his spine as the scene reminded him of Diggory’s death, only back then the quiet table had been the Hufflepuff table, and wailing could be heard from various tables. There were no crying or sobbing this time though, only a palpable tension in the room.</p><p>“… at St. Mungos!”</p><p>“… hospitalized…”</p><p>“… –med in the snow…”</p><p>“… I swear to Merlin, she was…”</p><p>“… Three Broomsticks and…”</p><p>Draco picked up pieces and snippets of conversation as he walked down the Great Hall, searching for a vacant spot at the Slytherin table. He spotted one between Nott and Zabini. Nott was reading a magazine on Quidditch while Zabini read today’s issue of <em>The Prophet. </em>Draco sat down and poured himself a cup of tea. The whispering seemed to intensify around him, and he could no longer discern any words or sentences, they all seemed to blend together in a big blur and becoming a resonating buzz – like angry bees or something like that – in his ears. Draco tried to ignore it while he forced to eat some toast. He had slept poorly despite the Dreamless Sleep Potion he now downed daily and had felt nauseous ever since he had used the unforgivable curse – several times even! – yesterday. He felt vile, like he was no better than his aunt Bellatrix, killing and torturing because she found it amusing. As Bellatrix entered his mind, Draco lost his appetite, not even bothering to pretend to eat the food on his plate and he pushed his plate away lest he be sick and retch in front of the whole school. The noise in the Hall seemed to rise from a buzzing to the roar of a waterfall and Draco could no longer ignore it as it demanded his attention.</p><p>“What’s going on?” Draco asked Nott and Zabini. Nott didn’t hear him and continued to read. The Italian glanced at Draco and quirked an eyebrow at him over the rim of <em>The Prophet</em>.</p><p>“You don’t know?” disbelief was colouring his voice.</p><p>“Obviously,” Draco drawled, feeling slightly irritated. Zabini smirked at him, seemingly enjoying the situation, no doubt a petty revenge for Draco laughing at him a couple of weeks ago. He folded the paper in half, taking his time, and opened his mouth.</p><p>“Katie Bell was sent to St. Mungos yesterday,” Nott said, and Zabini shot him a glare as Nott ruined the moment of suspension. Draco just blinked, unable to process the information. It simply wouldn’t stick, like his brain rejected the information.</p><p>“I beg you pardon?”</p><p>“Katie Bell. Gryffindor chaser, nice ass,” Nott explained, flipping a page. Draco wrinkled his nose. He most definitely did not want to start thinking about Bell’s ass. “I certainly wouldn’t mind tapping that.” Zabini rolled his eyes at Nott’s crude language.</p><p>“She was sent to St. Mungos yesterday,” Zabini repeated the words Nott had said a mere minute ago, and still they didn’t make any sense at all.</p><p>“What happened?” Draco asked, taking a careful sip of the scolding tea.</p><p>“Someone cursed her,” Zabini shrugged and Draco burnt his tongue on his tea as he inhaled sharply. <em>Ouch!</em> “Apparently she is lucky to be alive,” Zabini continued and studied his nails, as if the subject couldn’t interest him less and Draco’s heart skipped a beat and his breath caught in his lungs. <em>No, no, oh no. </em>He hadn’t meant for this to happen, he hadn’t meant for anyone to get hurt – except Dumbledore of course. It was the whole reason for using the unforgivable, to avoid things like this. It became hard to swallow, the spit had seemed to become thick in his mouth and being unable to moisturize it. Draco felt like he couldn’t breathe properly, like a giant had sat on his chest, rendering him unable to fully expand his chest and diaphragm. <em>No, no, no no no no…</em></p><p>“Lucky her then.” He forced the words across his lips, trying to sound indifferent, but the words sounded shaky to his own ears, but the other boys didn’t seem to notice as they didn’t comment on it. Draco cleared his throat, trying to banish the shakiness of his voice. “So what curse was used since it qualified for a trip to St. Mungos?”</p><p>“Apparently she was under the influence of the Imperius curse when it happened. No one knows for sure, but it’s said that she was floating in the air and screaming in pain or something,” Zabini elaborated, still looking like they were discussing the weather. Draco, however, knew that this suited Zabini perfectly as the handsome Italian was a gossip and loved to be the centre of attention. Draco made a noncommittally grunt. <em>How could this have gone so very wrong?</em></p><p>“Should improve our chances of winning the Quidditch Cup though,” Nott added, as if the near death of the girl was a minor injury, and she would return to Hogwarts in a matter of days. Draco said nothing but gave Nott a stiff nod. The movement felt unnatural and his neck gave a small crack in protestation at the rigid movement.</p><p>“How long do they intend to keep her there?” Draco asked. A millisecond later he added, “we wont meet Gryffindor until spring, what good would it do for us if Bell is back before then?” He felt disgusted by himself by talking of this in such a detached manner and voicing how to exploit her absence. His feelings didn’t show on his face however, as Draco always had his shields firmly in place, making his face an unreadable mask.</p><p>“Nobody knows. A week, a month, a year,” Zabini shrugged, sipping his coffee. Draco didn’t answer, only sipped his tea which had lost its flavour – he might as well drink boiling water for all Draco knew. Draco felt someone watch him as the hair at the nape of his neck stood on end. He searched Hall and soon found piercing green eyes scrutinize him. Beside the jet-black haired boy Granger sat, talking quietly with the Weasley girl. Weasel himself sat on Scarface’s other side and he too stared in Draco’s direction. Draco returned their glares for a short while until Crabbe and Goyle sat in front of him, obscuring the view – and Granger disappeared behind the boys’ wide shoulders. Both boys caught up surprisingly quick as to what had happened the day prior and seemed ecstatic about the girl’s fate. Draco’s stomach roiled in protest. He sat in the Great Hall a little while longer – half an hour, which felt like an eternity – before getting up. Draco knew that Potter’s green eyes followed his retreat from the Hall. He roamed the castle as he tried to calm himself down, trying to control his breathing. His head throbbed and there was a pressure building behind his eyes. No matter how he tried to banish the feelings the guilt set like a stone in his heart, pulling him down.</p><p>As it was a Quidditch Sunday (Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw) the majority of the students had gathered at the pitch, making the castle seem empty and, as Draco couldn’t calm down by walking, he headed towards dungeons and the Slytherin Common Room. The Common Room was almost barren, save for a couple of students sitting on the couches, chatting or reading. Draco stormed through the Common Room, heading towards his dorm, hoping it would be empty. Luck, it seemed, was on his side as the dorm was abandoned, and after locking the door and silencing the room, Draco broke down, crying and sobbing, making his shoulders shake as the guilt overpowered him.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Hermione </strong>
</p><p>“Are you sure that relaying on the Prince is a wise decision?” Hermione asked. It wasn’t the first time Hermione had asked that question.</p><p>“Knock it off, Hermione. You’re just annoyed that Harry’s doing better in potions than you,” Ron grumbled. Hermione bristled and was about to snap at Ron, but she controlled herself and took a deep breath before answering.</p><p>“No, I just don’t think the book is safe to use. I mean, the spells aren’t Ministry approved,” Hermione said with pursed lips. She had glanced at the book and seen some of the spells which had been scribbled down in a bold handwriting (and somewhat familiar, though she couldn’t quite place it), and Hermione had never heard of these spells before. “Levicorpus is relatively harmless, but we’ve seen a whole bunch of people use it in case you’ve forgotten. Dangling in the air. Making them float along, asleep, helpless,” she said and thought back to the Quidditch World Cup and suppressed a shudder. They had been so scared and helpless and suddenly, a harmless spell had been used to something sinister. Hermione watched Harry’s facial expression and judging from the way a shadow seemed to darken his face, he remembered the episode as well.</p><p>“Don’t you forget that the Prince also created Muffliato?” Ron added and raised an eyebrow. “You use that spell all the time.” It was true that she did; the spell was very useful, especially since the three of them often discussed matters which demanded secrecy.</p><p>“I just think that you should be careful. We don’t know what intensions the Prince has,” Hermione said with an air of finality. They walked in silence down the almost empty corridors of the castle, as the majority began to head towards the main entrance, as they wished to get good seats to today’s Quidditch match between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. She was sick and tired of the discussion and the way Harry and Ron seemed to fawn over the Prince. Hermione had not had the opportunity to read the book, but so far she didn’t approve of it; the Prince had scribbled down several spells of unknown origin which sat uneasy with Hermione. But Hermione was also curious. How had the Prince known what to alter in order to enhance the potions? Perhaps if she could get her hands on the book, she could decipher the art of enhancing potions as she couldn’t deny the sheer genius of enhancing the potency of the potions. Whoever the Prince was, he or she had been brilliant. Her fingers itched to just grab the damn book and run to some secluded part of the castle to read the book, though Harry would be able to find her easily because of the Marauders’ Map.</p><p>Hermione sighed inaudibly and used Occlumency to create a new book with the title of ‘The Halfblood Prince’ and placed it on one of the shelves in the back of her mind. She had organized her inner library in titles. One section for each significant person filled with books carefully placed on her shelves. Draco had his own section too, of course. His section seemed to be divided by two types of books. One part was not exactly pleasant, filled with memories of him being horrendous towards her, while the second part contained these secret memories of heated kisses, laughs, gentle touches, and pleasant conversations. Volumes upon volumes containing memories from school, countless hours spent in the library. A section where books were full of childhood memories, a section where books contained memories of her exploring the magic flowing inside of her, how she had created small miracles with her mere thought. And a section where the books were full of memories she did not wish to revisit, as they hid the memories of all the times she had been terrified, well and truly terrified for her own safety or her friends lives and safety – when the troll had suddenly stood before her in the girls lavatory; when Fluffy had barked and snarled at the three of them; when they had been trapped by the Devil’s Snare and the boys had been strangled while she struggled to remember her magic, feeling powerless in the minutes it took; standing on the chessboard watching the game progress and Ron sacrificing himself; when the Chamber of Secrets had been reopened and she had used the mirror to gauge around corners, her hands shaking violently, barely able to hold on to the mirror; when she heard <em>something </em>creeping up behind her, and she had used the mirror, only seeing the big, yellow eyes before the nothingness had taken over; when Sirius had pulled Ron down the secret tunnel under the Whomping Willow while being a dog, angry and snarling with raised hackles and showing his teeth; when Lupin had transformed and later when she had saved Harry and Sirius by attracting the werewolf’s attention, making Harry and her a target in the dark forest only illuminated by the full moon; when the Death Eaters had attacked during the Quidditch World Cup and the eerie Mark in sky; when Harry had been named a Triwizard Champion, and his task with the angry and meanspirited Hungarian Horntail, breathing fire and roaring at him; when Harry had returned from the last task, clutching Cedric’s body and crying while gasping for breath, proclaiming the return of the Dark Lord; and last year, when they had fought their way through the Ministry, facing experienced killers.</p><p>She had felt the cold breath of Death at the nape of her neck, and she had emerged stronger and with reinforced bonds of friendship.</p><p>“I’m going to meet up with Dumbledore in twenty minutes,” Harry said and broke Hermione’s train of thoughts, making her blink and refocus as she re-emerged from her inner library. They were on their way to Gryffindor Tower, only meeting another student from time to time, all headed towards the grounds and the Quidditch Pitch.</p><p>“Oh, okay. I’ll head to the library then. I have to work on an essay for Professor McGonogall,” Hermione said and waved at the boys, turning the other direction. She had reached the library, and the heavenly smell of old paper, ink, and leather bindings. Today, the library was empty, no one was here and it was the only time she would ever bless Quidditch, as it left the library empty. Hermione rejoiced in the quiet and gave Madam Pince a wide smile one which the stern librarian didn’t return, almost skipping to her favourite table overlooking the lake and giving the perfect light for reading.</p><p>She had scribbled on her essay for almost an hour when someone joined her at the table. A part of her hoped that it would be Draco, but she knew he wouldn’t risk being seen with her in public and facing the real risk of being shunned by his family. That left Harry, Ron, Ginny and perhaps Neville who would join her here in her sanctuary. She glanced up and saw Ron leaning back in the chair he now occupied. His blue orbs were trained on her, and Hermione squirmed under the scrutiny. He didn’t say anything, so Hermione returned to her essay and the silence felt awkward. It was only broken by the sound of her quill scribbling on parchment and the occasional dipping of the quill in the inkpot.</p><p>“Do you have an essay to write?” Hermione broke the silence when it became too much to handle and it felt like the silence pressed down on her, though she still felt incredibly awkward.</p><p>“No, I just wanted to talk, I guess,” Ron said in an unsure voice, and Hermione wondered what he wanted to talk about. Things had progressed since their breakup, but it was not the same as before their short-lived relationship. Hermione had been stubborn about pretending that their relationship hadn’t happened. Sometimes Hermione regretted the relationship, it had jeopardized their friendship, and had ultimately changed it. Hermione supposed that the change was only natural; there had been some strong emotions involved, and Hermione had thought that one of them was love. It was love. But not in the way she had thought. The love she felt for Ron was a platonic love. She loved Ron the way she loved Harry; they were her brothers and her family in the wizarding world.</p><p>“Sure. What do you want to talk about?” Hermione asked while scribbling away on her Transfiguration essay. It was an interesting topic about Human Transfiguration, where Hermione was currently debating the ethical use of these charms, as they could obscure criminal cases; the suspect could change appearances and framing an innocent and she cross referenced to Polyjuice Potion, as the potion had a similar although longer lasting effect, how easy someone would be able to hide from law enforcement and so on.</p><p>“Erh, well… you and Malfoy… you know?” Ron stumbled and struggled to formulate a coherent sentence, making Hermione forget about the essay for the moment and fixed her eyes on him. He had a blush creeping up his neck, the tips of his ears a dark shade of red. His hands fiddled with his blue, home knitted sweater, and wasn’t able to sit still as he moved in the seat. Hermione cocked her head to the side and felt at a loss as to what he meant. <em>He couldn’t know about me and Draco? Could he? </em>Hermione felt slightly panicky as her palms began to heat up and perspiration was a thin sheen on her hands.</p><p>“No, I’m afraid I don’t.” Hermione tried to sound innocent, not sure if she succeeded. The blush crept up his face, making it bright red, almost matching his hair. Ron inhaled sharply, making his chest expand and holding it for a few seconds, before releasing his breath slowly. Hermione knew this was his way of plucking up courage.</p><p>“You and Malfoy are soon finished with the potion, right?” He kept eye contact with her, fixing her to the spot.</p><p>“Yes?” It was both a confirmation and a question. Where was he going with this?</p><p>“Well, uhm, I thought that perhaps we could try again now that you almost finished.” He grinned at her, looking as if he had just accomplished something very difficult. Hermione was at a loss for words. She hadn’t expected this, and she only blinked at him.</p><p>“What?” She asked dumbly.</p><p>“You know. Being in a relationship,” he laughed nervously and racked a hand through his hair. His face was almost as red as his hair. Hermione couldn’t find her voice nor form a coherent sentence. What was happening? Wasn’t he in a relationship with Lavender? He had broken it off with her, for crying out loud! Why did he suddenly want to try again?  </p><p>“Aren’t you in a relationship with Lavender?”</p><p>“Well, yeah, but I would rather be with you.” Hermione was shocked and she felt her eyes widen at their own volition. Hermione was struck speechless. Ron gave another short, nervous laugh.</p><p>“You don’t have to give an answer straight away. Just think about it, yeah?” He got up clumsily, like he hadn’t quite gotten used to his lanky form and the long limbs. He kissed the crown of her hair and left the library in long strides. Hermione followed him with her eyes until he turned a corner and disappeared behind the shelves. Hermione blinked a couple of times, eyes still locked as to where Ron had been but a minute ago. She shook her head lightly, making her curls bounce around her face and returned to the essay, trying to forget the conversation with Ron.</p><p>Hermione sat in the library, working on numerous essays – might as well get ahead while she was at it – until dinner was served and she reluctantly got up as her stomach roared at her in hunger.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Draco </strong>
</p><p>The potion was soon finished brewing. Tonight they would add the last dandelion root in the moonlight, giving him plenty time to research the cabinet. There were still plenty of books he needed to read. He hadn’t searched the restricted section yet. He needed to get in the restricted section and roam the aisles. Draco had been reluctant to search books containing Dark Magic, but Draco no longer had a choice. He would need a permission slip and then search in the old tomes. Or he could use the slip Slughorn had provided and break into the restricted section? A simple Alohomora wouldn’t do, but Draco was second in class, shouldn’t he be able to work around the charms securing the section? He would have to try it tonight though, sacrificing his sleep – not that it was the first time he had done so, nor would it be the last. He would just have to do his homework until he would meet up with Granger.  </p><p>Granger sat on the floor with her body facing the window.</p><p>The pale moon illuminated her face and hair, making her look ethereal, as her sunkissed skin glowed in a silver sheen, and her caramel eyes sparkled in a silver-blue colour in the pale light. Her chocolate coloured hair seemed black in the night, contrasting the silver sheen her skin had taken. He could still detect her freckles dusting her nose. Granger leaned towards the cauldron and dropped the dandelion root. She flicked her wand in an elegant and confident manner. The dark wood in her hand clashed with her illuminated skin. Granger stirred the potion, counting aloud, and then set a timer. Draco sat close by, having shed his outer robes and laid it out on the floor, and he sat on it in an effort to avoid the cold stone floor. Draco held out an arm, inviting her over, and she settled beside him with Draco’s arm draped around her small waist. She was soft under his fingers, and a part of Draco ached to pull away the layer of clothes and discover her. The other part of him knew it would be impossible – he couldn’t very well have sex while fully clothed (as he didn’t want her to see the fucking blemish on his skin), it would feel like he was using her, and he wanted to feel her, to feel her silken skin under his. No, sex would not be a part of their relationship. How could it when he had the mark of a psychopath on his arm? A dangerous, Muggleborn-hating murderer’s mark. It made Draco wonder if Granger had been with anybody. As far as he knew she had had a fling – could it really be described as a fling? – with Krum, which had made Draco uncomfortable (no, jealous was the right word. Fucking Krum had danced with her and drawn out her pretty laugh). He was fairly sure that it was nothing serious between them. And at some point, he had been rather sure that Weasley had a crush on her, but considering the way he was glued to that Brown girl’s mouth said otherwise. But what about Granger? He had thought she fancied him as well. Perhaps Draco had been wrong? It wouldn’t be the first time, though he was loath to admit it. But had their friendship progressed further? Had they dated? Or kissed? Sleeping together?</p><p>“What’s on your mind?” her soft voice broke his reveries.</p><p>“Hm?” She poked him in the side.</p><p>“What’s on your mind?”</p><p>“You,” he said and smirked at her, pulling her closer and dipped his head and kissed her forehead. The fragrance of roses filled his nostrils and he inhaled deeply. She laughed and poked him in the ribs again.</p><p>“Be serious.”</p><p>“You wound me, Granger,” he said in mock hurt before continuing “I’m always serious when it comes to you.” They held eye contact, and his heart was hammering away in his chest which made the blood rushing in his ears sound like a great waterfall. He wondered, not for the first time, how she would look like underneath him with kiss swollen lips and tousled hair and her uniform in disarray (or preferably gone all together).</p><p>Madness overcame him and he pushed her down gently, so that she was laying on his robes. Judging from the way her eyes widened she hadn’t expected it, and Draco followed her down, raised above her by resting on his left elbow, careful not to crush her petite frame under his weight. He leaned down and kissed her deeply, tasting her and feeling his blood beginning to rush south. Draco pulled back, slightly out of breath, panting like her and sharing the air with her. Her hair was spread around her head and he watched her as she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Granger’s beautiful eyes was settled on him, a pink blush coloured her cheeks. Draco raised his hand and touched her cheek, the Malfoy heirloom glinted in the moonlight, while the green disc seemed black. He caressed her cheek, letting it glide over her soft skin, marvelling at the soft texture. Her lips stretched in a smile and her bottom lip escaped her teeth, making the corner of her eyes crinkle a little. Merlin she was beautiful. Draco couldn’t help himself as he leaned down and caught her rosy lips. She responded to him, kissing him back eagerly. His blood already boiled. Draco deepened the kiss, letting his tongue sweep into her mouth and taste her. A soft moan escaped her, and Draco swallowed the sound greedily. How he loved the small noises she made. She placed her hands on his chest and she let them glide down his abdomen, sending shivers down his spine and his breath hitched. She stopped just centimetres from the edge of his trousers, and they travelled back up his abdomen. He became hard. He wanted to touch her without the heavy layers of her robe. He pushed her outer robes off, never breaking contact with her lips, and she rested her weight on her elbows, allowing the robe to glide off of her shoulders, before settling back down and pulling her arms out of the robes. Her hands settled on his neck, her thumbs caressing his skin, leaving hot trails on his skin. He sucked in her bottom lip, sucking gently, and her hands left his neck and settled in his hair. He let her lip go in order to kiss her fully. She nibbled at his lip, and a throaty groan rumbled in his chest. His hand entwined in her mass of hair, tugging at the soft strands and barring her neck to him. Draco released her lips and kissed a trail down her jaw and neck, marvelling at the feel of her skin under his lips. He sucked at her jaw, the spot under her ear, making her gasp and her fingers tightened their grip of his hair. His hand left her hair and roamed down her side, trying to feel her curves underneath the layers of the school uniform. Fucking wool jumper. It needed to be removed, that was for certain. His hand skimmed the edge of the jumper and – with his heart in his throat – he slipped a finger under the jumper and button up shirt, touching her skin. She shifted underneath him, pressing her hip more firmly against his hand, which encouraged him to place his whole hand on her hip. Her skin was hot – or was it him who was hot? His cock throbbed painfully. His thumb traced circles on her skin. He could hear Granger’s laboured breathing. His hand grabbed the hem of the jumper and tugged, trying to pull it up and free her from the heavy wool. Granger giggled and placed her hands on his chest, giving him a soft push and sat up. Draco laid back, resting on his elbow, and watched her remove the grey jumper. The sight was erotic, making him hard. She was this otherworldly creature who enticed him, drew him in, and made his brain go haywire with want and desire. <em>Mine.</em> The second the jumper was discarded Draco pulled Granger back down and kissing her with a fervour. He trailed kisses on every inch of exposed skin and her hands roamed his back, racked his hair. Draco wanted more skin to touch, and her damn shirt collar was in the way.</p><p>“Take it off,” she said in a raspy voice and pulled at his jumper. He kept placing open mouthed kisses on her neck, and she yanked at the jumper. “Take it off,” she repeated, still yanking at the jumper. Draco groaned but complied, straightening up and pulling off the jumper forcefully, throwing it away and leaning down again, letting his weight press her down a little and Draco felt the warmth from her.</p><p>Draco pulled at her tie, loosening it and he disregarded it by throwing it to the side, not paying attention as to where it landed. He placed his mouth on her throat, could feel her pulse flutter under his lips. He unbuttoned the top button, gauging her reaction by watching her through his lashes. Granger didn’t say a word, only nibbled at her bottom lip, something she did when she was nervous. she gave him a small smile and he unbuttoned another one, and another one. Her throat was now completely exposed to him and he could just make out her clavicles. He wanted to kiss her there, he decided and unbuttoned another button. Draco pushed the shirt aside, exposing her clavicles to him and, just as he had wanted, he kissed her, sucked on her delicate skin while the smell of summer rain wafted around him. Granger whimpered and tugged at his hair. He sucked at the juncture where her neck and shoulder met. Draco sunk his teeth into her skin – not hard enough to draw blood or even leave a mark, but harder than nibbling – making Granger gasp in surprise and Draco let out a groan. She tugged at his hair, pulling his head up and she clashed her lips against his.</p><p>“Fuck, Granger,” he rasped out of breath and his breath ghosted her skin, making her shudder.</p><p>Her dainty fingers left his hair and wandered down to his shirt collar and loosened his tie, though not completely and it still hung around his neck, but she seemed satisfied and her hands moved on to the top buttons on his shirt. He could feel her hands trembling lightly as she unbuttoned a few buttons. <em>More, more, more.</em> He had lost control, he wanted her, and she seemed to want him as well. He was unable to stop. He was possibly addicted to her. She had managed to unbutton enough buttons to expose his chest and some of his stomach. The room was cold and served to cool down his overheated skin. Draco deepened the kiss. <em>More, more, more…</em></p><p>Draco unbuttoned another button, exposing more of her chest. He kept unbuttoning until he could see the swell of her breasts. His finger skimmed the skin there, and he once again trailed kisses down her jaw and neck, but this time he explored further down. She wore a simple grey bra with no kind of adornment, and Draco thought it was very fitting – Granger was a natural beauty who didn’t need clothes or makeup to make her desirable. He flicked out his tongue, tasting her delicate and sensitive skin. A soft moan tore from her lips, making Draco inhale sharply and suck on her skin. She made a delicious sound, and his hand gripped her hip, his fingers digging into her, but she didn’t seem to mind. A blush was beginning to form on her sternum. Draco needed some sort of friction to relieve the aching pain. Granger was unable to lie still, and her hips wriggled under his hand and he gripped her tighter. Draco found her lips again, kissing her passionately, while white hot desire burned through his veins. His hand wandered her body and settled over her breast. Granger raked her nails over his exposed skin. Goosebumps erupted as the pleasure rippled through his body. He could feel the hardness of her nipple through the grey fabric. He fondled her breast and drew out small whimpers. The sound shot straight to his groin and his hips rolled uncontrollably, grinding against her leg and he groaned. The friction had sent waves of pleasure coursing through his body. Draco had half a mind of repeating the motion and he pinched her nipple through the fabric, rolling it between his thumb and index finger. Granger gasped into his mouth. Draco’s breathing was laboured, coming out in small pants. He rolled his hips again and –</p><p>The timer went off, and they broke apart, panting hard. Her pupils were dilated and her hair in disarray. Her rosy lips were kiss swollen and were inviting him to press his lips against them one more time. Her chest rose with each breath, pressing lightly against his own chest. He sat up and moved towards the cauldron to stir the potion. He raked a hand through his already tousled hair and glanced behind his shoulder, where Granger still laid on his robes. Her breathing had normalized, but the flush on her sternum was still very present. The buttons still were unbuttoned and revealed some of her chest. He could see the roundness of her breasts and he could see her grey bra. His eyes raked over her splayed form, drinking in her long legs, wide hips, and narrow waist and the swell of her breasts. Draco thought he could see her hardened nipples through the fabric and it made his cock twitch as he thought about the feel of her breast in his hand. Fuck, he wanted her so badly. He was hard and painfully so, as he stretched against the fabric of his trousers. Granger sat up and began to button up her shirt again, hiding away her skin. When the last button was buttoned, she raised her dainty hands and tried to smooth down her wild hair, which was of no use – the curls had a life of their own and refused to be tamed. She sighed and gave up her fruitless attempts. Instead she procured a hair band and piled her hair in a bun at the top of her head. Her delicate neck was exposed to him. He watched her stand up and search for her jumper, tie, and robes. She dressed herself and then glanced at him. A shy smile played on her lips. Draco just stood up and walked the short distance to her. She had averted her eyes, no doubt uncomfortable. Draco gripped her chin and tilted her face up, forcing her to look at him. She already worried her lip. Draco placed a gentle kiss on her lips. He wanted to tell her that he loved her. The words sat on the tip of his tongue, burning his lips as they pressed for freedom. Draco bit back the words. It was neither the time nor the place. Oblivious to Draco’s feelings, Granger pulled away and glanced down his form. Her eyes rested on his exposed chest, and a delicate hand touched his chest, exploring the planes of his chest. Her hand was warm and delicate. He could feel her push the shirt aside, letting her explore further. Her brow furrowed and she glanced up at him through her dark lashes.</p><p>“Sorry,” she mumbled, and her fingers skimmed a part of his chest, barely touching the skin. He could still feel the warmth emanating from her. Sorry? It made no sense. Why would she apologise? Was she afraid that he hadn’t enjoyed himself? Her eyes wandered back to his chest, fixed on a single spot. Draco glanced down his body and Draco saw what had upset her. Vertical scratch marks hidden away by his shirt travelled down his chest. <em>Oh. </em>He hadn’t even noticed, so caught up in the moment as he was. She moved to pull back her hand, be he caught it and placed his lips on the back of her hand.</p><p>“Don’t be.” Draco let go of her hand and glanced at his watch. It was already way past curfew, and nearing midnight. “It’s late. We better call it a night.”</p><p>“Yeah, you’re probably right.” She nodded and her bun bounced on her head. A curl escaped the updo and touched her shoulder. Draco buttoned up his shirt and tightened his tie. He searched for his jumper as he hadn’t noticed were it landed. He found it underneath a chair and he bent down to pick it up. Pulling it over his head, Draco turned towards Granger. She was gathering her things, bending down to pick up her bag, her behind in his direction. He wished the skirt was shorter. Draco really wanted to see more of her legs… Not wanting to be caught staring he turned around and smoothed down his tousled hair. “Ready to leave?”</p><p>“Yes.” The walked to the door, and right before she reached for the door handle, he kissed her a final time. “Goodnight, Granger. Sweet dreams,” he whispered against her lips.</p><p>“Goodnight,” she whispered back. Draco opened the door, and the both exited.</p><p>Granger walked away with light steps, heading down the corridor which led to the grand staircase, no doubt heading towards Gryffindor Tower. She would spend the rest of the night in her bed, dreaming peacefully. Draco watched her turn and the corner and then he left the dark corridor. Although Draco had the past curfew permission slip it wouldn’t do to roam the castle too much. The library was nowhere near the direct route to the dungeons. It would be better to avoid ghosts and professors alike. Without incident Draco snuck into the library and spent a couple of minutes taking down the pathetically week wards protecting the restricted section. When the last ward shattered Draco entered the restricted section and roamed the aisles, searching the shelves for useful books. An hour later Draco slumped down on the cold stone floor, a small stack of books at his side and a ball of light hovering over his head. Three books containing information about magical objects and their uses, one book about dark magic, and two books about dark objects. He picked up the first book and flipped it open. His eyes scanned the pages. Draco was tired and he rubbed his eyes when the letters began to bleed together. And the hours bleed away, turning night into dawn. Draco slammed the book shut and the noise broke the silence. <em>Fucking waste of time! </em>None of the books had provided useful information. Tonight, after Quidditch practice, he would go to bed early. His back ached terribly from the hunched position.</p><p>Draco stretched and his spine popped several places. He rubbed his face. He would have to leave, soon, or else madam Pince would find him – the conceited old hag would throw a fit if he was in the restricted section without a permission slip and give him detention – and Draco couldn’t afford to waste time in detention. He would have to leave now before it was too late. Quickly Draco placed the books where he found them – or at least he thought found them there – and left the restricted section. He tiptoed towards the doors, stopping every few minutes and strained his ears to pick up the smallest noise. In an hour or so the first students would stir, but Draco was still careful to go unnoticed. He arrived at his dorm sixteen minutes earlier than he usually got up. Draco used the time to freshen up, splashing some water in his face and hiding the dark circles under his eyes.</p><p>This was going to be a long day.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Draco </strong>
</p><p>Draco was beginning to crack. The wine had been a failure, the vanishing cabinet had proven fruitless as well – oh how he wanted to Reducto it to kingdom come – and the necklace had been a complete disaster, sending the Bell girl to St. Mungos for Merlin knows how long. <em>I have to succeed. I have no other option. Mother depends on me.</em> Draco felt stretched, like he couldn’t possibly take any more upon him without snapping in half. Killing Dumbledore, keeping Mother and Father safe from the monster living in his house, maintaining his appearances here at Hogwarts by being a prefect, earning good grades, Slytherin Chaser, being as bigoted as ever in front of fellow peers. Keeping Granger safe by keeping their relationship a secret, keeping the Dark Mark a secret from her – surely she would tell Potter about it, and Potter would tell Dumbledore quicker than the Snitch could fly. And now the guilt from the Bell episode had been added to his weight load. He felt anxiety from the episode as well; had he covered his tracks thoroughly enough? Could they trace the cursing of Rosmerta back to him? If they could, he would be expelled, having his wand snapped, and he would receive a one-way ticket to Azkaban, meaning he would have failed his mission and Mother and Father would be killed by the merciless creature roaming the Manor grounds. <em>I was so careful in covering my tracks. It has to be enough</em>, he tried to convince himself but failed miserably.</p><p>The pressure was tearing him apart. Even with the Dreamless Sleep Potion Draco slept terribly. Like he couldn’t relax properly or like he had awoken several times each night. Sleep was hard to find him and it could take hours before his eyes would close, only for to awake a few hours later for a new day. Draco used a lot of Dazzling charms, hiding the dark circles, making him appear like his usual self. He could barely remember how that felt. Could barely remember the boy who had only worried about his grades, and Quidditch, and whether or not Granger fancied Weasel. It seemed like many years ago, like a different life, when, in reality, it had only been a couple of years.</p><p>The only reason why he hadn’t shattered as of yet was because of the girl with the unruly hair, breathtakingly doe eyes, and sunkissed skin. Granger seemed able to glue together the fragile pieces for a time. Her company, her brilliant mind and gentle nature was the only reason why he hadn’t shattered in a million pieces and gone insane from the pressure. But Draco hadn’t been around her the last five days, as the fucking potion required to simmer undisturbed for seven days. Seven days without her soothing presence. And two more days until he was able to snatch her in his arms and claim her all for himself. This, Draco decided, was some of the worst torture. Only thing worse was the threat on his parents’ lives if he should fail. And so far, it definitely looked like a failure. He had not come up with a new plan. Because he didn’t know what else to do. Except kill him himself or make someone else do it. And Draco, though desperate, was not yet so desperate as to simply walk up to the old man and let the green light leave his wand. Draco was unsure if he was even able to procure an Avada Kedavra – did he truly want to kill the old professor? Or anyone else for that matter? Surely the Dark Lord would expect him to kill others. Muggleborns and sympathizers. The Dark Lord would kill Granger without hesitation. Granger and people like her. Draco didn’t much care about other people, they weren’t important to him. But did that mean they deserved to die? No. Draco wasn’t a murderer, he didn’t want anyone to die. Except the Dark Lord.</p><p>These were dangerous thoughts and Draco hid them away in a box. They could get his parents killed. Better to hide them and appear as an obedient and faithful server. Just like Father wanted, and Draco felt sick at the thought. It was what Father had wanted, wasn’t it? All his life Father had tried to mould him, and for a time it had worked. He had hated Muggleborns and wanted them expulsed from the wizarding world. He had listened and trusted his Father to be right. Draco had believed with every cell of his being that Muggleborns were inferior, that he, as a Sacred Twenty-eight Pureblood, held a higher value than everyone else. He had believed that the Muggleborns had stolen their magic, that they held no right to wave a wand, and that Purebloods always would be more efficient in magic. And then Granger had entered Hogwarts and been proclaimed to be the Brightest Witch of Our Age and she had torn apart every bigoted thought he had ever had, one by one, slowly but surely. She had</p><p>She had caught his attention, he had been enticed by her, and then fallen in love, and he had been in the middle of it before he had even realised his own feelings.</p><p>The castle was full of life and happy spirits as the Holidays approached. The castle had been decorated in reds, golds, greens, and silvers. Pine, and ribbons, and bells, and stars, and Christmas socks. The Holiday spirit was everywhere; students wore different Christmas pins (canes, and gingerbread, and Christmas trees), some of the girls wore heavy earrings formed as trees or stars or gingerbread (the crazy bint Lovegood wore earrings  formed as some sort of deformed garden gnome with a Christmas tree, proclaiming loudly that “no, this isn’t a garden gnome, it’s a Blibbering Humdinger,” whatever the Hell that is). Professor Flitwick had yet again organized the choir to perform various hymns. Some of the ghosts floated around the castle, spreading the spirit of the Holidays. Living and ghosts alike were in high spirits, unable to wait for Christmas. Draco wasn’t able to share this merriment, it felt like the warm atmosphere was unable to reach him, to seep into his core and thaw it. He was afraid, desperate, stressed and guilt rippled.</p><p>Two days, and then he would be able to hold her and chase away some of the dark thoughts.</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Invitations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As I’ve been sick I had enough time to write a second chapter. And instead of waiting I decided to post it now. Because, why not?</p><p>NB! In the beginning of this chapter there will be graphic descriptions of transfigured animals suffering effects from various curses, as Draco and Hermione are testing their potion – know your limits. </p><p>Thank you for reading.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <h1>Chapter XVII</h1><p>
  <strong>Hermione </strong>
</p><p>She wrung her hands, trying to dry off non-existent sweat in her robes. Hermione held her breath. Yesterday she had dropped the single strand of silver hair into the potion. This was the last step and in a few minutes they would know if they had succeeded or if they had failed. Hermione was nervous – if they failed the potion, she would fail her first class ever (she hadn’t even failed flying even though she was terrified of flying and she would be damned if she failed now!). Draco grabbed her hand and gave it a light squeeze.</p><p>“Ready?” Her mouth was dry. <em>We should have brewed another potion for backup. Oh Merlin, this was a mistake. A horrible, horrible mistake. </em>Not trusting her own voice, she simply nodded. Draco waved his wand over the simmering potion and Hermione held her breath. The first few long moments nothing happened. The potion remained the same. “Fuck!” Draco exclaimed and continued to use a rather colourful language. And then the potion changed colour; it gradually lost all colour and turned into a sort of milky white colour. It stayed that way, making Hermione nervous all over, and then it started to shimmer and got a golden colour. Hermione released her breath.</p><p>“Did it work?”</p><p>“I don’t know. I mean, it looks right,” Draco said while stepping towards the potion.  “Don’t suppose you have a test subject in that bag of yours?”</p><p>“No.” She might not have a living animal to test the potion on, but she did have Transfiguration. “But I can make you one.” Hermione shuffled through her back and found a broken quill – she had meant to repair it, but it might as well serve this purpose. She waved her wand. <em>Lapifors! </em>The quill morphed; it got fatter and longer, legs appeared, and a head took form, a brown fur grew, and then two long ears appeared. The rabbit wriggled its nose and the black eyes were observant. Draco waved his wand, and Hermione recognised the movement to a body-bind spell, effectively freezing the rabbit to the spot. Hermione then cast a diagnostic charm and the vitals of the bunny appeared. All green, the vitals were perfectly normal. She let her hand run down the back of the small animal, feeling the soft fur under her fingers. Hermione knew the poor thing would suffer greatly and she didn’t wish for that to happen<em>. </em>A flick with her wand and the rabbit should be numbed, by blocking the pain in the brain. By numbing the animal this way, they would still be able to see if the potion had any effect, as the diagnostics charm would pick up on the pain where it was caused. Hermione made sure that the rabbit wouldn’t feel a thing and – with a nod to Draco, he lifted the body-bind spell and trapped the rabbit in wards – tried a few stinging hexes, waiting to see if the rabbit would twitch or try to run away. It stayed still, blinking and wriggling its nose. The greens only shifted to vague yellows, and the graphic for pain only went up a nudge. Satisfied that the rabbit wouldn’t experience the pain, she turned to Draco who stood with a small vial containing a few drops of the potion. They had found a couple of curses which might serve the purpose, but they hadn’t agreed which curse to use, though they would agree today, after trying a few of them on the rabbit – the potion stated “every curse known to man” but did that necessarily mean <em>every </em>curse, or only the ones which was invented back in the 15<sup>th</sup> century?</p><p><em>Cutis Ferveo</em>, Hermione thought and slashed her wand downwards. A sickening yellow light left her wand and hit the animal. The greens, which indicated healthy and good vitals, turned an angry red and dark orange. Heart rate and blood pressure skyrocketed and the little graphic, which indicated pain, was rising by the second.</p><p>Under the soft fur Hermione saw big, red abscesses forming as the poor animal’s skin was boiling. The curse was awful, and the counter curse was complex and difficult to perform – often the victim would die from the shock before the counter-curse had been successful. The curse had been used in the middle ages to torture people and was inspired by the way Muggles tortured women they thought were witches by pouring boiling water over them. It made Hermione sick to her core as she imagined people using this spell against someone. Draco gave the rabbit a few drops of the shimmering potion. The warning red colours disappeared as if they had never been red at all, and the deep green recurred. The rabbit felt no pain, heart rate and blood pressure normalized. The red abscesses vanished as well, leaving the fur intact. It worked. It worked! Hermione blinked, revelling in the success.</p><p>“We did it!” Hermione exclaimed and clapped her hands together, almost jumping on the spot. A wide grin stretched her face.</p><p>“Well, at least we know that one curse will work,” Draco commented dryly, though Hermione could see the excitement in his stormy eyes. “I’ll cast the next one,” he announced in a haughty voice. Hermione huffed at his arrogance. Draco smirked at her and flicked his wand in angry movements. A bright purple light left his wand and the rabbit was hit on its left flank. The curse took immediate effect and an acid ate away at the rabbit; it melted away the fur, reaching the skin underneath which burned away. A horrible smell emanated from the animal and it made Hermione’s stomach churn. Once again, the vitals turned angry reds. Dark blood oozed from the wound as the acid worked deeper into the rabbit. Hermione could see white bone. Draco gave the animal a drop of the potion. Hermione expected the curse to reverse itself any second now, but nothing happened. The acid continued to eat away at the poor creature’s tissue though at a much slower pace. Hermione felt sick and wanted to retch. Instead she cast the counter-curse. The acid stopped eating away at the rabbit. Some of the ribs were visible. She felt bad and tried to comfort herself with the thought of the rabbit not feeling the pain and it being a quill – it wouldn’t stay this way.</p><p>Hermione’s forehead creased and she sucked in her lower lip, worrying it with her teeth. Draco frowned at the animal; his brows knitted tightly together and his lips pressed in a thin line.</p><p>“Perhaps it’s because the curse was invented in the 18<sup>th</sup> century?”</p><p>Draco made a noncommittal sound from his throat. “Anyway, we need a new test subject. We can’t assess this correctly with this-” he gestured to the animal’s flank “obscuring the results from the other curses.” Hermione nodded. She flicked her wand and the rabbit returned to its original form. The quill was no longer repairable; half of it was melted away.</p><p>“Should we try a curse invented in – or earlier than – the 15<sup>th</sup> century? And then a curse invented later than the 15<sup>th</sup> century? It could help test the hypothesis.” Hermione tried to rationalize, and Draco agreed.</p><p>Draco had already found a piece of parchment. He placed it on the table and turned it into a rabbit – this one white, with blood red eyes. The same procedure was used on this rabbit as well; wards, numbing spell, and diagnostic spells.</p><p>“Ready?” she asked while tightening her grip on her wand. the wood was smooth in her hand and she could feel her magic hum. Draco nodded. <em>Excorio. </em>Hermione slashed her wand, and a lime green light left her wand. The rabbit was being flayed; it started by the hind legs and moved upwards. Draco quickly gave the animal a drop of the essence and a second later the skin reattached itself to the animal, like it hadn’t been flayed at all. Draco slashed his wand. A dull orange light hit the rabbit. The fur fell off the place where the curse hit. The skin turned an angry red and soon an infested rash appeared on the skin. The edges of the rash were red while the centre was yellow. As the rash spread (rather quick) more and more, the fur fell off in big clumps. Once again, the rabbit received a drop of their potion. The rash didn’t disappear, but the spread slowed down to a point where they could only see singular hairs falling off the rabbit’s body.</p><p>Hermione glanced up at Draco and they shared a knowing glance.</p><p>“It seems like the potion only counteracts curses which were invented in the 15<sup>th</sup> century and earlier,” Hermione said, scratching her chin.</p><p>“And slows down curses invented later on,” Draco finished as he transformed the rabbit back to parchment. The parchment no longer useable, as the paper now had several gaping holes and the texture seemed quite frail, like it would crumble into dust by the slightest of touch.</p><p>“Remarkable,” Hermione said as she eyed the rest of their potion in the cauldron. Hermione scooped up the rest of the potion in a vial she had in her bag. “I can’t wait to show Snape and Slughorn.” Hermione was almost giddy with excitement. What a shame she would have to wait a whole week. She really hoped they would be impressed – they had certainly worked hard and spent many hours in this classroom. Hermione would miss these precious hours where she had come to know the man behind Draco’s cool and arrogant exterior. A sadness bloomed in her chest – would they be able to maintain their relationship now that the potion was finished? She hoped so, though she knew that, realistically, it would be difficult. Hermione despised the secretive nature of their relationship. It made her feel like it was wrong or dirty or something morally disgusting. Hermione was about to open her mouth and ask him, how they were going to proceed when he spoke first.</p><p>“Granger,” Hermione turned to look at him. Draco cleared his throat while a hand raked through his platinum locks. Hermione had noticed this habit when he felt uncomfortable, though it didn’t happen very often. “How are we gonna meet up now that the potion is finished?” The corners of her mouth tugged at this question. The sadness which had bloomed withered away as a pleasant warmth of happiness spread in its stead. The only chip in her happy feelings was the need of secrecy. It complicated matters entirely as Harry had The Marauders Map and could track every movement of every inhabitant in the castle. And Harry was ever so suspicious of Draco. Harry only swapped the map for the Advanced Potions textbook. If only there were a place the map coul– <em>Oh!</em> An idea formed in her mind.</p><p>“Do you remember the Room of Requirement?” Draco nodded. “Do you know how to use it?” Draco opened his mouth and was about to say something, but instead he snapped his mouth shut. Instead of saying something he just shook his head. “It’s located on the seventh floor across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy on the seventh floor. You need to walk past it three times while thinking on the thing you need,” Hermione explained, and Draco nodded along. “We could meet up there,” she said and suddenly she felt very shy. She didn’t think he would refuse, but she still felt incredibly nervous as her suggestion hung in the air between them. She hoped he would accept as she knew that Harry wouldn’t be able to see them there on his map. It would be perfect. Hermione moved her weight from one foot to the other, unable to stand still, while her hand plucked at her robes.</p><p>“Sure.” He bent down and caught her lips in a sweet kiss. “Tomorrow. After dinner, like we’re still brewing the potion,” he whispered in a tone which brood no argument and his breath ghosted on his lips. Hermione pursed her lips. The corner of Draco’s mouth twitched as he straightened up, peering down at her.</p><p>“Are all Purebloods this commanding or am I just lucky?” she crossed her arms in front of her chest, still holding the vial in her hand.</p><p>“There’s no one like me, so <em>you </em>must be lucky,” Draco said in an arrogant voice. He smirked at her, something playful glinting in his pale stormy eyes. Hermione snorted rather unattractively. Draco’s smirk grew. He leaned down again eyes already closed as he anticipated the contact with her lips. Her hand shot up and covered his face, stopping his descend. His pale eyes blinked a couple of times, surprise evident by the way his eyes had widened ever so slightly and the rise of his eyebrows.</p><p>“My, my… Seems like the table has turned,” Hermione said, adopting Draco’s arrogant voice and even quirked an eyebrow at him. “<em>You </em>must be lucky to earn a kiss.” Hermione could feel his lips stretch into a smile underneath her palm.</p><p>Quick as a snake he snatched her hand and whirled her around. A yelp of surprise escaped Hermione. Her head was parallel with the floor; her rebellious curls touched the floor. Hermione was supported by his arm and Draco loomed over her. His warm hand engulfed hers, and her other arm had snaked around his neck while her fingers gripped the vial tightly. Their position was like at the end of a waltz. She giggled up at him as her eyes found his molten silver. Hermione felt electricity in the air; it was charged with the electric currents; it whirled around them and heightened her senses. Hermione was hyper aware of his hand in hers, how it travelled up her arm and down her waist, how his hot breath fanned over her face, and his wonderful smell of forest, and leather, and with a hint wood, like he had spent a lot of time near old furniture. Hermione’s breathing changed. It became shallower at his near proximity. Draco pressed his lips against hers in a sweet and gentle kiss, making her skin tingle pleasantly.</p><p>“Well, I <em>am </em>lucky, aren’t I?”</p><p>“Indeed.”</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Draco </strong>
</p><p>Draco had taken a detour to the dungeons. He had snuck into the library – for the umpteenth time this term – roaming the shelves in search for <em>something</em>. His search in the library had become more and more frantic as time ticked by mercilessly. Soon Draco would return home for two weeks. Return to his infested home. Draco had taken the vial of Dreamless Sleep. The potion kept the nightmares at bay, but Draco still slept like shit. Like he hadn’t really slept at all, tossing and turning all night, though Draco knew that he had indeed slept almost five hours tonight. Five hours… it was a record this term. Draco had never been one to sleep in, he had always been an early riser and he usually got seven hours of sleep. He hadn’t gotten seven hours since the Dark Lord had taken up residence in the Manor. He felt like shit. Draco rubbed his neck while staring straight ahead with unseeing eyes, though he logically knew the chalkboard was standing up against the wall, and an oaken desk was placed in front of the chalkboard. Several rows of students sat in front him, blue and green uniforms mixed. Draco was seated on a row where both Nott and Zabini sat to his right in the Arithmancy classroom on the seventh floor. Draco found the subject to be rather tedious, but he studied it at a N.E.W.T.-level nonetheless, as one might never know what the future held. Not surprisingly, neither Crabbe nor Goyle had earned enough O.W.L.’s to take this class. They hadn’t really earned any O.W.L.’s and thus they only studied the core classes. They were, perhaps, the most dim-witted idiots to ever attend Hogwarts – closely followed by Weasel. Arithmancy was the last class of the day. Draco stared out the window to his left. The roof was covered in a thick white blanket. The ground was covered in white and the trees in the Forbidden Forest looked like they where covered in powdered sugar. It had been a beautiful winter day. The sun had been shining from a clear sky; not a single cloud had been present. The sun had already begun its descend on the sky. The rays glinted in the Black Lake making it look like gemstones was encrusting the surface of the water.</p><p>Professor Vector blabbered on and on about one equation or other – Draco couldn’t concentrate and kept zoning out of the lecture. He knew, however, that he would be able to crush the numbers once he could gather his thoughts. They kept wandering back to a certain Gryffindor with wild hair and fire in her eyes. She had been so excited when they had discovered the potions effect on the various curses. Draco had been curious as well. If not the for the extremely rare ingredients, the potion could be used to slow down curses which still hadn’t got a counter curse, which could give enough time to find a counter curse, or if the counter curse was difficult and demanded too much time. What a shame that Phoenix tears were so rare and impossible to procure. The three drops they had used had been mind numbingly expensive – though it could barely be seen in the Malfoy fortune, as it had been build up by generations.</p><p>Draco had wanted to confess everything to her. Her soft brown eyes had regarded him in a way which made his heart race and, not for the first time, Draco wondered if she returned his feelings. He was certain she felt <em>something. </em>Draco only hoped it was something more than affection.</p><p>The words had been at the tip of his tongue, begging to be released. He had wanted to confess his innermost feelings and desires. Perhaps the truth set people free, but the truth would doom Draco.</p><p>“Yes, Mr. Corner?” the black haired professor said, pulling Draco back to the present.</p><p>“If we add in the factor of seven being the most powerful magical number and the combination of these –”  Draco zoned out again. The witch once again entered his mind. They would meet up in the Room of Requirement after dinner. He could bring along his Arithmancy essay or even one of the books he had borrowed from the library about magical objects – though he needed to conceal that particular book under heavy disillusionment charms. It would be an elegant solution as it would give him precious time with her and time to come up with a solution to fix the bloody cabinet. Lost in thoughts Draco didn’t hear Professor Vector dismiss class. Nott’s bag hit Draco in the back. Draco grunted and turned to Nott, a snarl in place.</p><p>“What the fuck man?” Draco snapped.</p><p>“Mr. Malfoy! Language, if you please. Ten points from Slytherin,” Professor Vector looked quite shocked and shook her head disapprovingly at Draco. The middle aged witch tsk’ed while flicking her wand which cleaned the chalkboard and gathered her loose parchment in neat piles. She gave Draco one more stern look before sweeping out of the room, her burgundy coloured robes fluttered behind her.</p><p>“Stop whining, Draco. If it weren’t for me you would have been rooted to the spot,” Nott sniffed. Draco grumbled under his breath but decided not to comment on it. Instead he packed up his belongings.</p><p>“Are you two flowers coming or what?” Zabini drawled by the door, looking irritated.</p><p>“Do shut up,” Nott replied with no heat in his words while rolling his eyes. Zabini only smirked at him.</p><p>Draco left the classroom with Zabini and Nott, Draco’s hands deeply buried in his pockets while walking a pace behind them.</p><p>“Finally!” Zabini sighed in relief. “I swear to Merlin, if I have to sit through another Arithmancy lesson with those Know-It-Alls I’m going to –”</p><p>“But you will. In a week,” Nott interrupted dryly. Zabini huffed.</p><p>“But they are insufferable!” Zabini whined and gestured with his hands.</p><p>“Don’t tell me you find them more annoying than Golden Girl Granger?” Nott replied smoothly, his voice almost like silk. Draco only waited for Nott to bat his lashes at Zabini. It didn’t happen though.</p><p>“Well, back then it was only Granger. None of her House mates has a brain. Now it’s a whole class full of them!” Draco rolled his eyes at this.</p><p>“But you listened to Granger for five years!”</p><p>“So? I also listened to Ravenclaws for five years.”</p><p>They kept bickering amongst themselves all the way to the dungeons. They stood in front of the bare wall which were the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room.</p><p>“<em>Serpentines Sanguine,” </em>Nott said. The wall in front of them moved and revealed the entrance. “So, in conclusion, you prefer to sit in the same class as Granger, the biggest Know-It-All to ever grace this school, than be in a class with Ravenclaws?”</p><p>“Yes! It’s not that hard to understand,” Zabini exclaimed. “I prefer <em>one </em>irksome Know-It-All over a whole classroom full of them!” Finally, this argument was ending. It had been dreadful to listen to and completely irrelevant. <em>Pft, preferring Ravenclaws over Granger. He must be barking mad. </em>Draco almost sighed in relief as the argument seemed to be concluded.</p><p>“But how? Granger is by far ten time worse than the worst Ravenclaw,” Nott argued a few heartbeats later. Draco groaned in frustration. How the fuck could he continue this argument? Draco didn’t have the patience for this. “Draco, what do you think? Granger or a bunch of Ravenclaws?”</p><p>“Sorry man, I’m with Blaise on this one,” Draco shrugged like it didn’t matter. Nott just stared at him, disbelief in his hazel eyes. “Stop looking like a kicked puppy, will you? I would rather there be only one than ten.”</p><p>“You… you can’t be serious?” Nott struggled to comprehend Draco’s words. His eyes were wide as saucers</p><p>“Ha!” Zabini exclaimed and slammed a hand into Draco’s back and then ruffled his hair. “Who would have known that Draco here is intelligent?” Zabini grinned, flashing the string of white teeth. Draco glared daggers at the tall Italian.</p><p>“Just about every person in our year,” Draco sniffed while trying to regain order of his hair. “I’m certainly smarter than you,” Draco added and slammed Zabini’s back with more force than necessary. Zabini stumbled a step, surprised by Draco’s force.</p><p>“Watch it,” Zabini warned.</p><p>“Sorry. Not only am I more handsome and clever than you, it appears that I’m also stronger,” Draco shrugged. “Must suck to be you then,” he added in a sweet voice. Zabini sent a murderous glare at Draco which only made Draco smirk at him. Nott, on the other hand, was laughing outright, which only served to sour Zabini’s mood.</p><p>“Aw come on Blaise, don’t be such a baby,” Nott grinned and patted Zabini’s shoulder.</p><p>“Well, at least I’ll be able to get a date to bring to Slughorn’s party,” Zabini sniffed arrogantly. Draco grinned.</p><p>“That’s the spirit,” Nott added.</p><p>Draco was eating his dinner, some tender roasted beef with mashed potatoes and gravy and different kinds of vegetables, in silence. Draco didn’t participate in the chatter surrounding him. Some first years, who sat a little further down the table, were excited for the upcoming Christmas holiday, shrill voices pierced through the buzzing and excited exclamations were uttered. The closer they got to Christmas the more excited the buzzing in the Great Hall was. Draco didn’t listen to the conversations. Draco just concentrated on eating his food, and he supposed that the action would look rather mechanical. The thought made him pause; he rolled his shoulders to lose some of the tension there. He let his eyes sweep over the Hall. Inevitably they landed on the Gryffindor table. She was easy to spot. All one had to was to look for her wild hair or red hair, as she usually sat in close proximity with one of the Weasleys. And sure enough, she sat beside the youngest Weasley and across from Weasel and Potter. Granger was facing him, her back towards the wall. She was engaged in something the Weasley girl said, who flicked her cobber hair over her shoulder. He could see Granger laugh. Draco’s gaze lingered a second too long. An elbow jabbed him in his side. Draco glared at Goyle.</p><p>“Good thing you’ll soon be rid of that filth,” Goyle ‘whispered’ and gestured towards the Gryffindor table, a look of utter disgust on his face. Out of the corner of his eye Draco could see that both Nott and Zabini were following the conversation with rapt attention, though they tried to hide it. Draco would have to be careful; he was threading in a pit of snakes. Draco had to be careful. Which of these snakes were venomous? Crabbe and Goyle were for sure. But what about Zabini and Nott? Nott’s Father, Nott senior was a Death Eater, currently behind bars in Azkaban, but that didn’t mean that Nott shared his Father’s views. Hell, Draco was a prime example of this. The Zabinis had been neutral during the last war and probably still were. Nonetheless, Draco was expected to be venomous. And he would have to treat every snake like it was venomous. Draco carefully schooled his face into a blank slate.</p><p>“Thank Merlin,” he replied in a voice which sounded like he had endured the worst hardship imaginable. <em>If they only knew. </em></p><p>A grey school owl glided down and dropped an envelope in his lap. The owl landed and blinked at him with its big yellow eyes, clearly expecting some kind of treat. As Draco didn’t have any owl treats at hand, Draco offered the owl some of his beef. It hooted and took the offered meat from his fingers and set off, gliding in the air under the ceiling which showed that the evening was dark, and cloud covered.</p><p>Draco recognised the pompous calligraphy on the envelope and knew that it was from Slughorn. Draco wondered what the professor wanted. Draco opened the envelope and unfolded the letter within. He scanned the letter quickly and found it to be another invitation to a party. It was to be held in his office – like the last time – Friday, two weeks from now at 9 pm. They were allowed to bring a date to this party as well. Draco’s eyes swept the Great Hall again and Draco saw other students receiving owls. Zabini, Potter, the Weasley girl, Granger herself had received a similar letter. A few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs and a small bunch of Slytherins had received a letter as well.</p><p>“What’s that?” Crabbe asked and strained his neck in order to read the letter over Draco’s shoulder. Draco despised this sort of behaviour and folded the letter in half, hiding the letters from Crabbe’s view.</p><p>“An invitation to a party,” Draco replied in a clipped tone.</p><p>“Are you bringing a date this time, Malfoy?” Zabini inquired. Pansy suddenly turned her full attention to Draco. <em>Bloody Hell! Thanks a lot, Zabini. </em>Draco was furious at Zabini, as he had managed to direct Pansy’s attention back to him. Draco had spent the better part of this term trying to shake her off – he hadn’t succeeded, but he had managed to dim her attentions… somewhat. But now it had been all for naught as she batted her eyelashes at him.</p><p>“A date? Who are you bringing?” Pansy asked in a sickeningly sweet voice while she flicked her black hair behind her shoulder. She was about as subtle as the Hogwarts Express.</p><p>“No one, I’m going alone,” Draco said and waved his hand in a dismissing manner. Pansy pursed her lips, looking quite dissatisfied. Draco didn’t give a rat’s arse about what Pansy thought or wanted. Pansy was about to open her mouth to argue, no doubt, and Draco stood up, muttering an excuse under his breath as he gathered his belongings. He left the Great Hall in no hurry, strolling down the rows of tables and walked out the heavy doors. A good distance away a group of Hufflepuff students were heading for the grand staircase. Draco followed. The staircase shifted a few seconds before Draco reached it which stranded Draco where he was. Draco heard the Hufflepuffs chatting and laughing somewhere above him. Draco waited for what seemed like an eternity when finally, the staircase decided that he had waited long enough. The staircase was terribly annoying today, and it took a small eternity for Draco to climb the stairs. When he finally reached the seventh floor, he found the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. He walked past the wall across from the tapestry. He needed somewhere to relax, to unwind. Somewhere he could study – alone and with Granger. A place Granger would love. A place just for them. As Draco walked past the bare stone wall for the third time a heavy set of chestnut doors with intricate iron details appeared. Draco slipped through the doors and stepped into the room. The room had a warm hue as a fire was roaring in a fireplace of stone on the left side of the room. In front of the fireplace was a small coffee table in chestnut. Surrounding the coffee table were a luxurious sofa in the same blue colour as the rug. It was not the biggest of sofas; it would only be able to have two people sitting at a time. It looked plush and inviting. On each side of the sofa were a plush armchair with a high back and wide armrests. They looked perfect for reading in. A soft rug in a light blue colour was under the furniture. To the right were several bookshelves in chestnut. Each shelve seemed to almost snap under the weight of the heavy books. A spacious table and two chairs in chestnut stood in the middle of the room. A rug similar to the one under the sofa-set was placed underneath the workstation. Across the door were two large windows; to what they overlooked Draco didn’t know, as the Room of Requirement was located in the middle of the castle. Still, they were there, showing off a dark sky with few stars. Perhaps these windows were like the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall? It seemed plausible. Draco turned away from the windows, redirecting his focus on the bookshelves. His eyes roamed the shelves. Some of these books were standard schoolbooks, covering various classes – which was great, as it meant that he wouldn’t need to carry around his own books. Others were more advanced books on ancient runes, arithmancy, potions, herbology and so on. Not finding anything of particular interest to Draco, he opted for reading the latest book from the library. He slumped down in the couch, which was just as cosy as he had imagined, and flipped to the page he had reached yesterday. He tapped the tip of his wand on the book, casting a disillusionment charm on it. When Granger would glance upon it, the book would appear to be a herbology schoolbook.</p><p>Draco read quietly. Not that the book held any usable information so far. With a sigh Draco closed the book and put it back in his bag. He leaned back, letting his head rest against the backrest. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. Draco opted for the opportunity to strengthen his Occlumency. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out, breathe in…</p><p>He didn’t hear Granger enter the room, nor did he hear her approach. Suddenly he felt the couch’s cushions dip under an additional weight and a warm body snuggling close to him. Her delicate scent reached his nose and he breathed her in. He cocked open an eye. Her face was turned towards him, caramel eyes scanning him.</p><p>“Sorry, did I wake you?” She bit her lower lip. Granger’s hair framed her face. Draco pulled her closer, feeling her small frame pressed into his side.</p><p>“No,” he said the moment before catching her lips.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Hermione </strong>
</p><p>Hermione sighed deeply. While the potion was now successfully brewed – thank Merlin – she could now focus on the upcoming exams (and S.P.E.W. which had been halted quite a bit while the potion had been brewing, much to Hermione’s dismay). She would begin her studying for the exams right away. After all, in only three weeks the exams would be upon them, and Hermione wanted to be well prepared. There was no time to slack, and with determined mind, she headed towards the library.</p><p>Hermione breathed in the wonderful smell of paper, and ink, and old leather. The smell of knowledge. Hermione greeted Madam Pince with a bright smile. As per usual, the stern librarian didn’t repeat the gesture and only gave a vague nod in Hermione’s direction. The young witch was impeccable in her dark green robes, with a matching hat atop her dark hair which had been pulled back into a tight bun at her neck. The witch’s hat had some beautiful feathers adorned. Though the witch was fairly young – thirty years or so – she appeared to be much older; her cheeks were sunken in, her skin was too pale, and she was too thin, almost skeleton like. On her hooked nose were a pair of reading glasses. In her hand she held a book – which book, Hermione couldn’t tell. Clearly Hermione had interrupted Madam Pince while reading by entering the library. Madam Pince’s dark eyes regarded Hermione, an annoyed glint in them, making the corners of her eyes crinkle. The librarian’s lips were pressed together tightly. Hermione suspected that the witch still hadn’t forgiven Hermione for asking, if she could place her S.P.E.W.-flyers in the library. Hermione quickly left the witch to her book and walked towards her favourite table, the one she had fought a silent war with Draco to gain. She smiled at the memory. It had been a pain in the ass at the time, especially the first time, where she had been working on some essay, when Draco had disturbed her back in their first year. He had tried to be as annoying as possible and succeeding, and back then, Hermione had attributed it to him being his annoying self. Hermione had ignored him at the time, but the next time she went to the library and her favourite spot was suddenly occupied by the blond deeply immersed in what Hermione had presumed to be homework, she had wanted to let him taste a bit of his own medicine, and she had tried to be as loud and annoying as possible. Draco had glared daggers at her, though he had refrained from opening his mouth, no doubt fearing that Madam Pince would hear and kick him out of the library. And thus, their war had begun. Funny how these memories, which had once been a nuisance, now was regarded with fondness. Hermione let out a small sigh and sat down. It was still fairly early, and she had about four hours until dinner was served in the Great Hall, providing Hermione plenty of time to study. She was to meet Draco after dinner, and the thought of it made pixies flutter in her stomach. Hermione opened her potions book and – not for the first time – wished she would be able to study the Prince’s book. She unrolled some parchment and uncorked her inkpot. Her eyes darted over the pages and she scribbled down notes furiously. She was lost in her own little world; the only thing left was the book in front of her.</p><p>“Of course, you’ll be hiding in here,” Ginny admonished lightly as she pulled out a chair. Hermione tore away from her book, only now noticing that it had gone dark outside. How did that happen?</p><p>“What time is it?” Hermione asked perplexed.</p><p>“Well, dinner has been served for the past half hour,” Ginny answered while tapping her chin with her slender fingers, giving her a look of deep contemplation. Her copper her shone in the torchlights. “Ron was concerned that you might forget to eat as the exams are approaching.”</p><p>“Oh, I must have lost track of time,” Hermione mumbled under her breath, eyeing her work while contemplating whether to skip dinner and continue, or call it a day.</p><p>“I can see that,” Ginny said while rolling her eyes. Ginny seemed to read Hermione’s mind and continued. “Well, I guess if you prefer to starve, I’ll leave you to it.” Ginny got up in a smooth move. Ginny’s elegant way to move about Hermione attributed to her excellent physical physique, as Ginny spend many hours on the Quidditch pitch.</p><p>“No no, I’m coming. I just need to…” Hermione trailed off as she packed up her belongings. “There. Shall we?” Ginny grinned at her, as Hermione hurried to catch up with her. <em>Perhaps Draco wants to study? </em>Hermione felt quite giddy as the two friends found their way to a bustling Great Hall in peace. The noise felt like a sledgehammer to Hermione, as she had been submerged in quiet for many hours. They made quick way to Harry and Ron, a spot across them available for both Hermione and Ginny. They had probably saved the seats. And, Merlin bless them, a spot which faced the Great Hall, allowing Hermione to have her back to the wall. Hermione and Ginny both sat down, and Ron and Harry greeted them. Both boys were already eating, food piled on their plates. Harry and Ron quickly resumed their conversation. Quidditch, and Hermione immediately dropped out. Ginny on the other hand, eagerly jumped into the discussion, offering her own opinion while placing food on her plate. Hermione got herself some shepherd’s pie, taking small bites. It was delicious and the flavours exploded in her mouth. Silently she praised the house elves, reminding herself to head to the kitchen to get the recipe for herself. Hermione didn’t pay attention to the conversation happening around when suddenly she heard Ron say</p><p>“We need to watch out for Crabbe and Goyle, they are quite nasty as beaters.” Ron looked like something was painful as he uttered the words, clearly very reluctant to say something remotely nice about Crabbe and Goyle, while Hermione coughed violently as she realised that the match this weekend was a Slytherin/Gryffindor. Ginny patted Hermione’s back. “Yeah, I know, Mione. I don’t like to praise them either,” Ron said and wrinkled his nose.</p><p>“Bletchley has been sharp this year. I snuck off to watch their training last week, and Vaisey and Urquhart had difficulty scoring on him. And they are not the worst of chasers,” Ginny admitted grudgingly, chewing on her roasted beef. Ron glared at his food like it had offended him. Harry pursed his lips.</p><p>“Their weak link is Malfoy.” Three sets of eyes landed on Harry. “Well,” Harry started and pushed his glasses back in place, “he’s been training all right, but look at him. He’s ready to faint from exhaustion. Voldemort is probably keeping him busy.” Hermione almost groaned aloud. Not this again.</p><p>“Oh knock it off, Harry,” Ginny said and rolled her eyes at him. Ginny was familiar with Harry’s theory and was, like Hermione, tired of hearing about it. “Why would You-Know-Who be interested in Malfoy?” Ginny laughed and flicked her hair behind her should, making the cobber glint in the light. Hermione laughed as well, the absurdity of Draco being a Death Eater making her laugh. Harry and Ron on the other hand didn’t laugh. Harry looked cross while Ron sported a neutral expression.  </p><p>Three school owls in different colours swooped down and dropped a letter in Hermione’s, Harry’s, and Ginny’s lap and landed on the side of the table, hooting at them while regarding them with big eyes. Hermione patted the owl in front of her; a big barn owl with brown, almost black, eyes. Hermione had little to offer the owl, and so she opted to offer it some of the chicken, which stood near her. It ate the chicken vigorously, hooted and the took off. Hermione saw Harry trying to stroke the owl, which had delivered his letter, feathers only for it to snap at his fingers.</p><p>“Ouch!” Harry glared at the owl as it took off. “Stupid bird,” he grumbled. Ron snatched Harry’s envelope and turned it over in his hands. Hermione glanced at her own envelope.</p><p>Hermione knew the handwriting as it was pompous and bold. Hermione supressed a sigh. Hermione wondered if she wanted to suffer through another tedious party. Harry snatched his letter back from Ron and opened it. Hermione mimicked the action. Hermione unfolded the letter and read.</p><p>
  <em>Dear Ms. Granger,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I hope this letter finds you well. Your academics this term has been remarkable, and I find myself complied to praise your achievements as they are truly inspiring.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I am very pleased to formally invite you to my annual Christmas party. It will be held next Friday at eight pm. in my office. You are more than welcome to bring a date.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sincerely,<br/>
Horace Slughorn. </em>
</p><p>"Another invitation?” Ron asked. Hermione felt bad that he was the only one among them who hadn’t received an invitation.</p><p>“Mhm,” Ginny answered while scanning her own letter. Ron craned his neck in order to read Harry’s letter.</p><p>“And you get to bring a date?”</p><p>“Looks like it,” Harry answered, looking like he was deep in thought as he nibbled at his lower lip.</p><p>“Well, then who are you bringing?” Ron asked, scratching his cheek.</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“I asked, who are you bringing as your date?” Ron repeated, a big grin on his face. Harry frowned.</p><p>“Oh, I –”</p><p>“With me of course,” Ginny interrupted, raising her goblet to her lips and sipping some water. Ron turned bright red and sputtered in protests. Harry averted his eyes. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Hermione had waited for this moment for many years. Last year Ginny had revealed her feelings for Harry to Hermione, and Hermione had wished all the happiness for her friend. Hermione had known since the end of last year, that Harry had started to feel something towards the fiery redhead. “Oh shut up Ronald. You’re not Mom.” Ron glared at his sister. Ginny concentrated on her food, glancing at Harry from time to time, a sweet smile on her pretty face. Hermione’s heart swelled for her friends. She was possibly giddy with excitement. She sincerely wished for them to be happy and hoped they could find it with each other.</p><p>“Who are you bringing, Hermione?” Harry suddenly asked and her happiness faltered. She wished to bring Draco. Hermione wished reality was different. How wonderful would it be if their relationship wouldn’t raise any eyebrows. Ron leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. Hermione felt Ginny’s piercing brown eyes on her. It made her feel uncomfortable. Hermione fiddled with her robe.</p><p>“I don’t know.” Hermione furrowed her brow. “I’ll probably go alone,” she shrugged and then smiled at her friends. Hermione saw Draco leave the Great Hall, his hair a halo, giving him away in the crowd. They continued to chatter amongst themselves for quite some time, banting and laughing. Hermione noticed the shy glances both Ginny and Harry cast at the other.</p><p>Hermione glanced at her watch. It was time for her to leave. She announced that she was to leave and with a small wave, she left her friends at the table. She took a detour to the seventh floor; walking down several corridors, using hidden passageways all in order to confuse anyone who might follow – not that she thought that she would ever be a person of interest, but it didn’t hurt her to be careful. Finally arriving at her destination, she worried her lip. They hadn’t agreed on what to ask of the room. What if she couldn’t get in? Or if it was the wrong room? Did she know him well enough to figure out what he had asked of the room? Doubt bloomed in her, making her bite a little harder on her lip. She had no other choice than to try. It took her a couple of times. A beautiful door with delicate iron details appeared when she asked for a room just for them, somewhere they could study and relax. Hermione pushed open the door and slipped inside the room. The room was absolutely perfect. Straight ahead were big windows, which would provide a perfect light to read in. To her right were bookshelves upon bookshelves full of heavy books. A desk with two chairs provided a place where they could work, a soft looking rug underneath. To her right were a fireplace and a living room set of a plush couch, two armchairs with a high back and wide armrests, all made of the same delicate blue fabric. A coffee table were amidst the furniture. Hermione’s eyes landed on Draco. He lounged on the couch with his eyes closed. Hermione could see his even and deep breathing, indicating that he had fallen asleep.</p><p>Hermione crept closer, careful as to not wake him up. Hermione studied his profile; his straight nose, strong jaw and high cheekbones. The platinum hair fell into his closed eyes, the white lashes fanning out on his cheeks. He seemed so peaceful. Hermione felt an urge to trace her fingers over his face, tracing the outline of his profile. <em>Merlin, he’s beautiful. </em>Breathtakingly beautiful. Carefully Hermione sat down and pressed herself lightly against Draco, hoping she hadn’t disturbed his sleep. Hermione felt him stir and heard him take a deep breath. An arm snaked around her waist, pressing her closer to him. Hermione enjoyed the feeling of his warm body against hers. It sent a pleasant feeling down her spine. His eyes fluttered open, and she was met by molten silver which were slightly glazed over by the lingering sleep.</p><p>“Sorry, did I wake you?”  </p><p>“No,” he said as he bent down and pressed his soft lips against hers. Hermione smiled against his lips.</p><p>“Liar,” she murmured.</p><p>“Always doubting me. I cannot imagine why,” he pouted. Hermione pecked him on the lips.</p><p>“Yes, I wonder why,” Hermione hummed, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Draco pressed his lips together into a thin line, however. His brows were furrowed, and he looked to be deep in thought. The smile on her lips died. Silence stretched between them. Though the silence wasn’t uncomfortable it wasn’t exactly comfortable either and soon Hermione grew nervous. Had she unintentionally insulted him? Or hurt his feelings by implying his past behaviour? Hermione cursed herself. How could she be this stupid? Weren’t they long past this? Wasn’t his recent behaviour evidence enough that he had changed? Hermione worried her lip. <em>The Brightest Witch of Our Age, yeah right. </em></p><p>“Draco? Did I hurt your feelings? I’m terribly sor –”</p><p>“I never did apologize for my terrible behaviour, did I?” Draco interrupted in a quiet voice. He still averted his eyes.</p><p>“No, you didn’t,” Hermione answered in an equally quiet voice, almost a whisper. Why was this suddenly of such importance? Draco hadn’t been mean towards her since the beginning of fourth year, and this term he had become a friend and something more. He was important to her, something she thought he already knew. But perhaps he didn’t? She couldn’t expect him to know her thoughts or feelings after all. Suddenly Draco lifted his head, his eyes flicked to hers and held them in place.</p><p>Hermione was taken aback with the sheer force of emotions behind his steel gaze. His gaze seemed to penetrate her, like he was able to take a look at her soul. It unnerved her just as much as it thrilled her, her stomach twisted delightfully while her skin prickled in anticipation. Draco lifted a hand and cupped her cheek, tracing small circles with his thumb.</p><p>“I’m sorry for everything I have ever done. And I know that no words will ever right the wrongs I have done. I will do my best to do better, to be better. Please, forgive me, Hermione,” he whispered. Her name across his lips sounded like a prayer, and an absent part of her brain noted, that his was the first time he had ever called her by her given name. Her name had never sounded more beautiful and the sound sent pleasant shivers down her spine and made her breath hitch. Draco looked so achingly sincere in his apology. Hermione leaned into his touch. Her hand covered his hand and she gave it a light squeeze.</p><p>“I forgave you a long time ago,” Hermione whispered back, afraid that loud noises would break the spell which seemed to have been cast upon them. Hermione leaned forward and pressed a light kiss against his lips. He responded immediately, moving his lips against hers. They broke off, both panting lightly. Draco pressed his lips against her forehead and leaned back in the couch, pulling Hermione with him. Hermione nestled into his side, resting her head against his chest. Hermione could hear his heartbeat underneath. <em>Ba-dump… ba-dump… ba-dump… </em>a slow and steady rhythm. They sat there, cuddling on the soft couch while they watched the fire crack in the fireplace.</p><p>“Did you get an invitation to Slughorn’s Christmas party?” Hermione asked Draco.</p><p>“Mhm.” It was almost a hum and the sound resonated in his chest.</p><p>“So? Are you going?” Hermione enquired.</p><p>“I guess so. Though the last party was a rather dull affair,” Draco sniffed. “But, I also got the opportunity to learn about the dangerous occupation of the feared dentists.” Hermione laughed.</p><p>“Dangerous indeed, though if I recall correctly you only became aware of the dangers some time after the party.”</p><p>“Very true, but it was at the party I became aware of the possible danger. Merlin knows what I’ll miss if I decline the invitation?” Hermione made a noncommittal noise.</p><p>Silence once again fell upon them.</p><p>“Granger, wear a blue dress.” His request caught her off guard and she blinked. Hermione peered up at him.</p><p>“Blue?”</p><p>“Yes, blue. Has your enormous brain somehow shrunken down in size?” He jested and rolled his eyes at her and gave her small smirk. Hermione only rolled her eyes, poking him in the ribs.</p><p>“Why blue though?” she wondered aloud. Draco gave her a wolfish grin but didn’t answer.</p><p>***</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next update will be in two weeks. Stay safe. </p><p> </p><p>Much love from me.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. White as snow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>First things first: I’m very sorry for this delay. I have been unable to write for the better part of two weeks as I got a concussion. But, I’m better now (finally!) and will continue to update frequently.</p><p>Thank you all for sticking with this story.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Draco </strong>
</p><p>Draco was waiting for Granger in their room. Somehow, she was always late. They would agree upon eight o’clock and she would arrive ten minutes late. Draco sighed, flipping a page in the book in his lap. Another book, another dead end. Draco was no closer to complete his mission. Perhaps maintaining his appearances had been a crucial mistake? Quidditch was taking too much time, maintaining high marks were time consuming as well. Why hadn’t he thought about how exhausted he would be? Why hadn’t he stepped down from Quidditch, letting some other Slytherin take his place on the team? Or fake an injury? Or even an illness – and then just not return to the team? It would have been an elegant solution. Draco cursed himself for not thinking about these issues. It would have freed several hours, hours he could have devoted to coming up with a plan. <em>But, would I be able to give up Quidditch? </em>He loved Quidditch, soaring through the air lifted away all his worries and stress. Besides, he had always been very involved in Quidditch, it would be out of character to suddenly stop all together. At least, that’s what Draco told himself when doubt crept up on him and took hold in his chest.</p><p>How he wished he could tell Granger about his headache regarding Dumbledore. She might be able to find a solution. Draco still had the Killing Curse, but he was absolutely determined to keep that as a last resort. But alas, he couldn’t tell her. This was his burden to bear. He sighed. The door creaked and, turning his head, he saw Granger’s head peek into the room. Soon after she closed the door behind her and headed straight to his side. Draco pulled her closer, his hand clasped around her waist. Draco kissed her temple, her curls tickling his nose. Granger pulled up her feet underneath her, leaning heavily on him. Not that Draco minded. Instead he tightened his grip.</p><p>“Are you nervous about tomorrow?” Granger asked in a light voice.</p><p>“Why should I?”</p><p>“Apparently it’s the match of the year,” she shrugged, sounding like it was the most boring conversation she had ever had the unfortune to have. Draco held back a laugh. Ah yes, Granger disliked Quidditch to a default. She had only ever attended matches when Potter and Weasley were playing. She had never joined the other boys when they had watched the other teams play. Perhaps dislike was not a strong enough word. Detested was a better fit. Her only flaw, Draco mused. “The Common Room is in an uproar in sheer anticipation of tomorrow. Justin even broke his hand because he got too excited and stumbled down the stairs.”</p><p>“Well, they are <em>Gryffindors</em>, you can’t expect mu – ugh!” A jab with her elbow – how the fuck was her elbow this sharp? – in his stomach stopped the flow of words.</p><p>“Careful now,” she warned, trying to sound stern and failing miserably as he could hear her mirth shining through her warning. And Draco, being fairly certain that he knew her, couldn’t help but poke the sleeping bear. Just a little.</p><p>“I don’t like Gryffindors as a general rule,” he sniffed with disdain. He could feel her tense up, taking in a deep breath, no doubt to argue. “You, though, are an exception.” Draco nuzzled his nose into her hair, breathing her in. Roses and summer rain. And something a bit more exotic, some sort of perfumed spice. Draco wondered from where it came.</p><p>“What a coincidence. I feel the exact same way regarding Slytherins! Except Zabini is my exception. He is rather dashing you know,” she answered in faux innocence. She twisted in his arms, now facing him. Even her expression was one of complete innocence. “And did you know that he is Italian? I always wanted to go to Italy,” she sighed with a dreamily expression on her face.</p><p>“Clever,” Draco said with pursed lips. Granger’s expression changed to a wide grin.</p><p>“Well, I’m considered the Brightest Witch of Our Age. Didn’t you know?” She batted her eyelashes at him. Funny how this single action was perceived so differently. When Pansy had done it, he had felt repulsed. But when Granger did it, it made his blood boil and heat pool in his lower abdomen.</p><p>“I’m beginning to understand,” Draco deadpanned. Her grin widened. Granger settled back, resting against him. “Are you going to be there tomorrow?” And why the fuck did he sound this nervous? Draco felt embarrassed heat creep up his neck. He sincerely hoped she hadn’t noticed the way his voice had pitched.</p><p>“Of course,” she answered, seemingly like she hadn’t noticed anything. “Harry, Ginny, and Ron are playing. I’m always there to cheer for them.” <em>Oh. </em>Disappointment settled in his stomach. What had he expected? That she would show up in Slytherin green and silver? Highly unlikely. And, he had asked for their relationship to remain a secret. Wasn’t he about the stupidest idiot to roam the corridors of Hogwarts? Of course, she would support her friends. She was a Gryffindor after all, loyal to a default.</p><p>“Of course,” he replied smoothly, trying to hide the disappointment from his voice, and suspecting he failed miserably.</p><p>“I’ll be cheering for you too, you know,” she replied and smoothed down a non-existent crinkle in her robe. Her words chased away the disappointment like a wave with a wand. “I… uhm have something for you,” she stumbled over the words and fiddled with her sleeve. “It’s just a small thing – really it’s rather stupid, and… yes… uhm. You know?” Draco was intrigued as he had never experienced her like this before.  She was flustered with a beet red face, tugging violently at a curl, eyes darting around the room. She was practically eating her lower lip. She was squirming in her seat, like she was uncomfortable. He arched an eyebrow at her, silently asking her what all this was about.</p><p>“You are talking in riddles,” Draco said and cocked his head. She sucked in a breath, holding it for a few seconds and then released it. Draco was fascinated by the way she plucked up the famous Gryffindor courage, a courage which was infamous to be ever present. Apparently, she was an exception. And perhaps Longbottom as well. The awkward boy had always been misplaced among the lions.</p><p>Granger fished something out of her pocket. It was a small jewellery box in dark blue velvet. She opened the box and a gold necklace laid within, and she picked up the chain, placing the box on the coffee table. Granger fiddled with the necklace, while looking at it lovingly, a tender expression in her golden eyes and a smile playing at her mouth.</p><p>“I, uhm, it was a gift from my Mum, who got it from my Grannie, who got it from my great grandmother. She received it as a wedding gift from my great grandfather.” With a quick and forceful move, she thrust the gold chain in his hands. Surprised, Draco accepted it. The gold chain was thin and delicate. He supposed it had been expensive, considering her family wasn’t rich and the terrible economy in the twenties and thirties. A small pendant, a flat circle of pure gold with an engraved G in beautiful and elaborate calligraphy, no bigger than his thumbs nail, hung from the dainty chain. He ran his finger over the engraving, feeling the letter underneath his index finger.</p><p>“I see.” He didn’t. Why was she telling him this? Granted, it was a pretty piece of jewellery in its simplicity. He couldn’t help but touch his ring, which was on his thumb. He supposed he would someday put it on his ring finger, but it had felt odd when he had tried to wear it there and had thus settled for his thumb. The likeliness between the two heirlooms were rather striking, though his ring was green and silver, and hers was pure gold, they were both simple jewelleries with the family names engraved. Draco hadn’t been aware that Muggles had heirlooms too, though he supposed that thinking otherwise had been idiotic. The belief was a relic from his upbringing, and it made him cringe in shame. Hadn’t he learned anything? The backside of the pendant showed signs of usage; nicks littered the backside, but all things considered, the necklace was well taken care of, indicating the value the necklace held to her family. He felt her stare at him, the hair at the nape of his neck rose and the skin prickled, and he realized that he had been quiet for too long. Heat crept from his hairline down his face and made him a bit uncomfortable. “It’s lovely,” he finally said, truthfully. The smile, which had previously played at her mouth, bloomed in full, showing her normal sized teeth without her covering her mouth with her hand. Apparently, his response had been the right one, as she looked at him appreciatively.  </p><p>He still didn’t understand why she showed him this, and he felt his brows knit together in a quizzical expression.</p><p>“I thought you might want to wear it. Tomorrow. Because I can’t cheer for you openly –  ” Granger flushed a deep shade of red, making her freckles stand out on her skin an mumbling something unintelligible under her breath “I thought this might be…” she trailed off, and suddenly finding the fabric of the couch extremely fascinating as her eyes were locked at the cushion on which she sat on.</p><p>“Might be what?” Draco had an inkling as to what she tried to communicate but he wanted to hear it. Wanted to hear the words escape her pretty lips and feed his pride. Just a little. Eyebrow raised he awaited her answer. The red travelled to her hairline, making her look like a beet. He couldn’t help but find her utterly adorable; red faced, flustered, and nervous. It seemed like a miracle, that she hadn’t chewed off her lower lip yet. “I’m not getting any younger, you know.”</p><p>Golden eyes locked on his, glaring tiny daggers at him.</p><p>“Arrogant git,” she huffed, crossing her arms in front of her chest. A small laugh escaped him.</p><p>“Can’t deny that,” he said as he leaned back into the couch, stretching his legs in front of him. “You were telling me something, Granger?”</p><p>“I thought it might be – and I know it’s ridiculous, there is no proof that it works or even exist. It’s silly, really – ”</p><p>“Granger.” He rolled his eyes at her in good nature, finding her and her nervous rambling adorable.</p><p>“Right, sorry. A good luck charm.” Grabbing her hand, he placed a kiss on the backside of her hand.</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>–––</p><p>Draco donned his Quidditch uniform in private as he couldn’t allow his teammates to see his Mark – though Crabbe and Goyle already knew about it, Zabini, Vaisey, Bletchley, and Urquhart didn’t. And Draco would like to keep them in ignorance. Out of his pocket he pulled the gold chain with the small disc. Draco rubbed his thumb over the engraved G, thinking of her and feeling an odd sense of calm wash over him as it swept away the anxiety on the forefront of his mind. He put on the necklace and hid it under his uniform where it settled with the pendant a centimetre or so below his throat, the gold was cold against his skin but quickly warmed up. It felt weird at first, as Draco had never worn a necklace before, but as the delicate chain was almost weightless, he had soon gotten used to the feeling of the chain around his neck. The family ring he pocketed in his school robes, having never worn it to a Quidditch match, to worried to lose it.</p><p>Draco stood with the rest of the team, waiting for the doors to be opened. It was dark in the corridor and the air felt thick. Draco was unable to stand still, shifting his weight from foot to foot, tightening and loosening his hold on his broom. Despite the cold December, Draco’s palms felt sweaty. Discretely he wiped them off in his uniform, letting his broom rest against his shoulder. The seconds ticked by excruciatingly slow. Even though a lot of time was wasted when Draco practiced and played a match, he would be loathe to go without it. It was a dilemma: devout all his time to do the Dark Lord’s bidding or allowing himself some pleasures?</p><p>“… knock him off his broom,” Goyle’s deep voice rumbled somewhere behind him and shook him out of his thoughts. Words of agreement could be heard, but Draco remained silent.</p><p>“No, concentrate on the redheaded bitch,” Bletchley spat. One would think that the statement was physically painful, if one was to judge by the way his voice pitched.</p><p>“I’ll send a few gifts her way,” Crabbe snickered. Though Draco’s back was turned to the other boy, Draco could see the sadistic smirk on his fleshy face and the menacing glint in his beady eyes in his mind. Both Crabbe and Goyle had become a lot more sinister in the way they thought and acted; they were, without a second doubt, well on their way to join Voldemort.</p><p>The sharp sunlight blinded Draco and he missed against the light. Draco mounted his broom and flew through doors.</p><p>Flying into the field Draco searched the tribunes for her. His eye swept over the Gryffindor stands. Draco saw the oaf, Hagrid, which wasn’t really any accomplishment at all as the half-giant towered over the tallest students by almost four heads. Draco noticed someone wearing a stuffed lion’s head as a hat, though he couldn’t tell who, he had a guess as to who would wear such a monstrosity. Looney Lovegood. The girl was <em>something</em> else entirely and would be the only one with enough confidence – or was crazy enough – to publicly wear something like that. Draco took a turn around the field with the team and upon nearing the Gryffindors stand saw that  – yes, that definitely was Lovegood wearing the ridiculous lion hat – Granger was standing next to the lion hat. He was barely able to recognise her; her hair was hidden away under a grey knitted hat and she wore a Muggle jacket, completely obscuring her petite frame, while a Gryffindor scarf hid her chin from view. He caught her eyes and she offered him a small encouraging smile. It only took a second, and then he was rushed past her. They flew by the tribune the professors used, and, Draco noted in puzzlement, Dumbledore was not among them, as no one wore any outrageous robes nor sported the long tell-tale beard that the headmaster did. And neither was Snape. They ended their round at the Slytherin stands; cheers erupted, and green and silver banners were hoisted. Draco and the team took their position in the middle of the field; a half circle formed by the beaters and chasers and Draco hovering above them. Bletchley had taken his position in front of the three hoops. The Gryffindor team flew their round, and Draco could hear the Slytherin sing, when the Gryffindor team approached them.</p><p>
  <em>“Weasley cannot save a thing,<br/>He cannot block a single ring,<br/>That’s why Slytherins all sing,<br/>Weasley is our King.”</em>
</p><p>The Gryffindors ended their round by the Gryffindor stands to cheers and a deafening roar, while reds and golds were everywhere.</p><p>“Weasley is OUR King! Weasley is OUR King…”</p><p>The Gryffindor team took the same position as the Slytherins. Scarface hovering in front of Draco, green eyes squinted. The sun reflected in his glasses and momentarily blinded Draco, which made him blink a couple of times. Madam Hooch spoke her standard sentence, fair game and what not – he had heard it a million times before, and Draco zoned out. In a mechanical fashion both Draco and Potter shook the others hand, a pleasantry which had to be endured, a sneer visible on both their faces. The Snitch was released, circling each Seeker and off it went. The Quaffle was released and the game begun. Brooms set in motion; Weasley was quickest and snatched the Quaffle in front of Zabini. The redhead played a teammate – who, Draco couldn’t see, but he thought it was Thomas – and they neared the hoops. Crabbe took a swing at the Bludger, sending it towards the redhead who approached Bletchley, but Peakes got to it first and diverted the Bludgers direction. Draco didn’t stick around to watch if she was able to score or not. He set into motion, eyes scanning the field.</p><p>“Gryffindor scores! Gryffindor takes the lead 30-20,” Smith proclaimed, and the Gryffindor erupted.</p><p>He was searching for the Snitch, hovering in the air high above the goal rings. By the way the sun had moved on the sky, Draco guessed that the match was about two hours in. The Snitch had been nowhere to be seen. Draco squinted his eyes against the stark winter sun and the reflections in the heavy blanket of untouched snow, making it exceedingly difficult to discern the little gold ball. The wind bit his cheeks and nose. His fingers felt like they were frozen solid, and he damned himself for not casting a heating charm on the gloves.</p><p>“Slytherin scores! Gryffindor is in the lead 130-90.”</p><p>At the far-left corner of the field, almost at the hight of one of the flags, were a flash, and Draco immediately set into motion. The wind ripped in his uniform and slashed in his face as he rushed towards the little golden ball. He heard nothing as the wind whined in his ears and blocked out all other sounds. Out the corner of his eyes e noticed that Potter too had set into motion. Draco gritted his teeth while leaning forward, trying to make his frame smaller and thus gaining speed.</p><p>He didn’t see where the Bludger came from. It crashed into his left leg and continued the trajectory into his broom. Sharp pain erupted and he felt how the wood splintered behind him, and small fragments flew around his ears. His eyes widened in surprise, eyebrows almost touching his hairline. His mouth popped open in a small ‘o’ and as gravity sunk its claws into him and began to pull, he felt like he should be screaming. He knew instinctively that his leg was shattered; could practically feel the splintered bones as pain continued to slice his nerves. His heart skipped a beat and then hammered away at breakneck speed as he realised that he didn’t have his wand to stop his descend. Still, no sound escaped his throat and the world was without any sound as Draco crashed towards the winter frozen ground. The wind screamed in his ears as he continued his fast descend.</p><p>And then Draco realised, that it wasn’t the wind; it was students screaming in shock and disbelief. A second Bludger sizzled through the air, he could hear the angry crackling noise it made somewhere below him to his left. A second later he felt the blow to his head, making his ears ring, as sharp pain erupted from the back of his head, stars dancing in his vision as he tasted the metallic taste of blood. Had he bit his tongue as the Bludger had made contact with his skull?</p><p>Darkness threatened at the edge of his vision, and Draco blinked furiously in an effort to banish the black spots and stars. His head throbbed, and it felt like a mountain troll was cracking his skull open. His eyelids grew heavy, making it harder to keep them open. <em>Fuck! </em>Draco felt a flicker of panic, but only a flicker, as he was too tired to feel much.</p><p>Darkness overpowered him and robbed him of his senses.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Hermione </strong>
</p><p>Hermione was making way to the Quidditch field with Luna and Neville; Luna wore a hat with a stuffed lion on top, which roared every time she flicked her wrist or the Gryffindors scored. They chatted among them, high spirited as they walked through the main doors. The sharp sunlight made Hermione squint; the air was cold and crisp while the world was covered in white and looked untouched. Hermione was walking with a bounce in her steps, trying hard to supress it, but failing, as she thought about last night. Draco had accepted, and not only that, he had seemed very grateful as he thanked her for the necklace. She had been so nervous, feeling ridiculous as she presented the old necklace. She felt the ghost of his lips on her hand, making her smile, as she put on her mittens.</p><p>“You seem extraordinarily happy today, Hermione,” Luna said in her dreamily voice. Neville’s blond head turned towards her, like he hadn’t seen her today at all, though they had eaten their breakfast together.</p><p>“It’s a beautiful day,” Hermione said, opting to stay close to the truth as the blond girl was exceptionally perceiving despite the way she always seemed to be somewhere else in her own head.</p><p>“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” she said and Hermione nodded. The conversation continued in some other direction. Soon, they found themselves finding seats at the tribunes. Hagrid stood nearby, at the back, as to not obscuring other students view. There were no vacant spot around him, he was completely surrounded by other Gryffindors; he had always been popular among them, as he was kindness reincarnated and always inviting students over for tea. He was engaged in conversation with a dark haired girl, a second year, Hermione thought. She caught Hagrid’s eyes and waved. He waved back eagerly, smiling behind the bushy beard. Hermione sat down and let her eyes wander the Quidditch field; both Slytherin and Gryffindor tribunes were full, and Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw still held several vacant spots, though Hermione suspected they would be full in a matter of minutes as the match would soon begin.</p><p>A loud bang resonated on the open field and flashes of green flew out into the field. The Slytherins were shouting and cheering. Her eyes quickly found Draco amongst them; his silver blond hair made him stand out amongst them, like the sun was attracted to his hair. It struck Hermione, that she had never seen hair like his before, only him and his vile dad had this kind of hair, making them stand out in any crowd. Her eyes followed him as the team made their round, which wasn’t hard as his teammates all had dark hair. He seemed so at ease on a broom, not unlike Harry and Ginny, she mused. Some people are just born to fly – she certainly wasn’t, however.</p><p>The green robes soared past the Gryffindor tribunes; her eyes still locked on Draco, unable to hide the smile blooming on her face. He didn’t seem to notice her, which caused her stomach to give a small pinch. Rationally, she knew she couldn’t blame him, as she was wearing heavy winter gear, obscuring most of face and hiding her tell-tale riotous curls underneath a light grey hat – a hat she had changed the colour of to something resembling silver to show some sort of support for Draco, as she couldn’t wear anything green as it was too obvious and would only raise unwanted questions (this whole secret relationship was annoying at best, but at the moment it was downright infuriating) – but she was still disappointed.  In a green blur they had flown past. The Gryffindors buh’ed loudly.</p><p>A few heartbeats later the Slytherins reached their own; the cheering and noise went up a notch. He moved around so confidently, making it look like it took no effort at all, elegant moves making it look like he silently commanded the broom, rather than using his body. She had never noticed it before, but he looked beautiful when he flew, so at ease.</p><p>Flashes of red at the corner of her eyes caught her attention as the Gryffindor team entered the field. Hermione spotted the red Weasley hair of Ginny and Ron and caught a glimpse of Harry’s black hair. They started their round by the Slytherins.</p><p>
  <em>“Weasley cannot save a thing,<br/>He cannot block a single ring,<br/>That’s why Slytherins all sing,<br/>Weasley is our King.”</em>
</p><p>She could hear the Slytherins sing and it made her blood boil in rage and indignation. How dare they! Ron had won them the Quidditch Cup last year by his outstanding performance! She felt her face heat up with an angry flush. Angry on her friend’s behalf. Ron was a very good goalkeeper – or at least Hermione thought so, she didn’t have much experience or knowledge on the matter – the results from last year was clear enough. She joined the Gryffindors counterattack, and she meant every word as she repeated</p><p>“Weasley is OUR king!”</p><p>They made way to the Gryffindor stands, Hermione cheered and yelled as they rushed past, catching glimpses of Dean’s dark skin and Jimmy’s chestnut hair.</p><p>Madam Hooch started the game, and Ginny snatched the Quaffle right in front of Zabini and she made towards the hoops.</p><p>“Yes! Go Ginny!”</p><p>“Ginny Weasley begins the duel! What a nice steal from Zabini. Crabbe takes a swing at the Bludger and – nice save from Peakes, just in time to prevent disaster for the lions!” Smith said. Hermione kind of missed Lee Jordan – his obvious favouring the Gryffindors was endearing and McGonagall’s shriek of outrage (though it wasn’t really, as she too favoured her own House) had always made Hermione smile. Smith was good, he was neutral as a speaker ought to be, still she missed the inappropriate remarks from Lee. “Weasley scores! Gryffindor takes the lead, 10-0.”</p><p>The Gryffindors high-fived each other and then took their positions as the Slytherin goalkeeper passed the Quaffle to a chaser. Hermione didn’t know what his name was, and she didn’t much care.</p><p>“Urquhart flies by Thomas – Urquhart has looked sharp this season – and passes to Zabini who – scores! Closing the gap to the lions, 10-10.”</p><p>The Gryffindor stands erupted with each goal and each save. And Hermione cheered as well. Still, her eyes sought out Draco. At the moment, he was soaring far above them, clearly searching for the Snitch. Harry was searching near the ground.</p><p>“… excellent save from Weasley, the Quaffle is picked up by Vaisey, who passes to Zabini…”</p><p>Suddenly Draco set in motion; with great speed he flew towards the flag at the far-left corner, determination in his posture. Hermione released a breath she had realized she had been holding. Harry reacted immediately to Draco’s movements, turning his broom around and sped towards Draco’s destination.</p><p>“Go Harry!” Hermione heard the people around her yell. She wanted so badly to cheer for both of them; her best friend – no, brother – and her boyfriend. She was split between the two of them, unable to cheer for either of them and chose to remain silent.</p><p>“Zabini scores! Reducing Gryffindors lead to 170-130.”</p><p>Draco was almost there, and then everything happened so fast and yet the world seemed to slow down, making it possible for Hermione to take in every detail. It felt like something bubbled in her muscles, she could hear the collective gasp from the onlookers – or was she the only one who gasped? – as a stray Bludger came out of nowhere and crashed into Draco’s right leg, continuing its trajectory as it smashed into his broom making an explosion of splintered wood. She saw the moment his magic could no longer make the broken broom fly, how gravity seemed to claw at him as he fell through the air; a green spot in free fall, a stark contrast to the blue sky. She saw out the corner of her eyes how several students pointed at him, some even snickered. Hermione, however, felt how all blood had left her face, how her breathing had seized for a long moment (taking in big gulps of air) and how her heart had skipped a beat. There was a buzzing sound in her ears, blocking out sound; like someone had put wool in her ears. Why was everything happening so slow? She blinked, trying to banish the haze in her mind, and sound returned with a vengeance: the buzzing sound were screams, some from the Gryffindor stands, several from what she presumed was the Slytherins. And then, a Bludger to Draco’s left, several metres below him, was heading his way. Hermione could only watch what was probably some of the worst timing in Quidditch history, as the Bludger made contact with Draco’s skull. Hermione was relieved she couldn’t hear what she thought would be a sickening smack. Or crack. The mere thought made her nauseous. <em>He’s gonna break his neck! He can’t survive a fall of this height! </em>Hermione was frozen to the spot, unable to move, unable to take in a breath; her lungs refusing to expand and take in air. On the outside Hermione was calm, not batting an eye, on the inside, however, she felt panic claw at her muscles, forcing her pulse to quicken. <em>He doesn’t have a wand!</em></p><p>“Someone do something!” some Gryffindor said, voice strangled in shock. It broke the state of shock Hermione was in, spurred her into action, and acting on pure instinct she pulled out her wand and pointed it at the falling blonde.</p><p>“ARRESTO MOMENTUM!”</p><p>“Harry Potter has caught the Snitch, earning Gryffindor 150 points. Gryffindor wins!” Smith proclaimed as Draco’s fall was stopped, twenty or something centimetres above ground, and then he made contact with the ground with a thud, silenced by the thick layer of snow. The Gryffindors didn’t seem to react at all as Harry caught the Snitch, every pair of eyes locked on the blonde. And on her, she realised. With a quick motion she pocketed her wand. Somewhere on the field, Hermione heard the Gryffindor team celebrate their win, while she saw several brooms landing near Draco. Hermione bit her lip, while Zabini approached Draco. She could see blood gathering around his head, almost looking black against the snow. Hermione tried to swallow, but it was impossible as her spit had turned into something akin to glue. Or so it felt like. Slughorn and Madam Pomfrey approached as well, having finally descended their tribune; Pomfrey running at full speed, her robes sweeping behind her, while Slughorn seemed to trod as quickly as possible. The school healer waved her wand – Hermione recognised some of the diagnostic charms by wand movement – and several diagrams flared to life; some red, some orange, some green. Pomfrey waved her wand in unfamiliar movements and one she did recognise as his body was levitated above the ground, following Pomfrey’s brisk walk back towards the castle. The only thing which witnessed of Draco’s presence was the imprint his body had left and the dark stain of his blood in the soft snow. The red of the blood clashed with the white of the snow. Hermione was unable to look away, she was locked in this paralyzed state, and it was only as she felt someone pull at her that her legs started to move. She followed the one pulling her hand, not noticing were they where headed as she craned her neck to keep her eyes on the spot where Draco had been, though her view was soon obscured by several faces, none she recognised at the moment. Her legs just moved, one foot in front of the other, gazing straight ahead, unseeing.</p><p>Why hadn’t she acted straight away? Why had she been unable to cast the spell the second he fell off his broom? What if the voice hadn’t screamed for action? But she had stopped his descend.</p><p>“Hermione? Hermione, can you hear me?” a male voice asked. “I’m really worried. This isn’t like her.”</p><p>Pomfrey had been there and escorted him to the hospital wing. That was a good sign. Right?</p><p>“She does seem quite shocked, doesn’t she?” a light voice answered.</p><p>He would be all right now, right?</p><p>“Oi, Hermione, yer all right there?” a third voice, with an accent, said, seemingly upset as his voice pitched at the end.</p><p>“Mm.” One foot in front of the other. The hand holding her own yanked her to an abrupt stop, another hand tentatively touching her arm, giving it a light squeeze. Hermione blinked, bringing the world back into focus. Seamus, Luna and Neville all had their eyes fixed on her, making her squirm uncomfortably under their scrutinizing gazes. Hermione noticed that it was Luna who squeezed her arm comfortably, a comfort she didn’t know what to do with as the soothing gesture only revoked Hermione’s want to flee from sight, hiding in the library.</p><p>“Why are you so out of sorts? He’s been nothing but an outright prick to you – and everybody else for that matter – for years, I don’t understand your reaction… I mean, when Harry fell from his broom in third year, you were a lot more calm, and you don't even care for Malfoy,” Neville Neville said, curiosity and confusion visible; his brows were furrowed, head cocked to one side, lips pressed together slightly. Hermione couldn’t answer. She couldn’t tell the truth nor lie, and so she opted for saying nothing at all, shrugging as she turned to walk towards the castle.</p><p>Gryffindor was in an ecstatic uproar. Winning against Slytherin was always cause of celebration – one Hermione often had joined in on – but today she was unable to be as excited as her Housemates. Loud music, banging with the furniture, dancing on the tables, and loud conversations (though it felt like they were yelling). Hermione spotted Harry and Ginny dancing, and Ron was telling some story or other to Seamus, gesticulating wildly with his hands. She was just not in the mood and so she left the party early, needing some peace and quiet. Her dorm was abandoned, and it made her sigh in relief. Quickly, she shed her clothes, creeping under the blanket, feeling the comfort seep into her.</p><p>Closing her eyes, all she could see was white, almost unblemished snow with a dark red stain, growing with every second that ticked by.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I changed a small scene as I didn't like it - nothing important, but I didn't like the way I portayed Neville and Seamus, I didn't do them justice - I apologize and hope you like the updated version better.</p><p>Another update: I realize that Neville's inquiring is misunderstood as him questioning Hermione’s decision to save Draco. This is not the case, and I tried to clarify it with yet another change. Neville does NOT question why Hermione saved Draco (Neville’s a fluffy marshmallow who have no mean bone in him) but rather question her shocked reaction. Hoped that clarified enough to get the meaning – damn this dialogue was a bitch and one of the only times I really felt the downside of not having English as my first language.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Breakthrough</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi everybody.<br/>I’m very sorry for this delay. Life got hectic, my concussion flared back to life as my second clinical trial started, which caused headaches and exhaustion, leaving very little energy to write. That, and the fact that I was stuck for two weeks (I swear, I contemplated setting my computer on fire at one point) and couldn’t get the dialogue right, caused this massive delay.<br/>And as I stated earlier, I absolutely suck at dialogue. It is by no means a strength of mine. But practice makes perfect. I guess. </p><p>I once again want to thank you for reading and commenting. As I do not have a Beta, your comments and critique are improving me as a writer – please continue to do just that.</p><p>Lastly, I tried to update every two weeks, but it stresses me out too much. I will change the update frequency to once a month. If I should manage to pump out two chapters, you should expect a new chapter a month after the most recent update.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Draco </strong>
</p><p>Draco woke up to blinding lights, which made his head spin and sickness rise. Sharp stabs of pain pierced his skull, making him squint his eyes and blocking out the light. Slowly, he opened his eyes, one small movement at a time trying hard to adjust to the brightness of the daylight, but never quite managing it, opting for slightly squinted eyes. He took in his surroundings, the white curtains around his bed afforded little privacy and gave away his whereabouts. The hospital wing. His bed was placed so that he faced the big windows, which explained the piercing sunlight. He didn’t remember what happened and how he had ended up here. It confused him profoundly, but trying to remember only made the headache intensify.</p><p>The scent of hospital; the sterile smell of chemical products and some potion brewing somewhere, the fumes swirling in the air, made his head spin and stomach turn uncomfortably. Draco moved his arm, searching his person for his wand.</p><p>His body felt like he had been run over with the Hogwarts Express; it ached and cracked in protest at his movements. He found it laying on a table besides his bed and he immediately felt calm.</p><p>Trying to speak, he noticed how dry his mouth and throat was, and his voice left his lips as a hoarse and raspy sound, not even forming a proper word. He cleared his throat and tried again, and a weak sounding hello resonated through the room. Draco cringed at the sound, cursing whatever incident which found him here.</p><p>“Ah, you’re awake. How do you feel Mr. Malfoy?” While speaking she waved her wand, diagnostic charts flaring to life above him. Pomfrey’s brow crinkled as she studied the charts in front of her. The healer blocked out the light, providing a relief from his headache, which almost made him sigh and rendered him able to open his eyes fully.</p><p>“Fine,” he tried, but the words didn’t leave his lips. Clearing his throat a second time, he tried again. “Fine.” This time, his voice came through and Pomfrey’s attention snapped to him. She raised a sceptical brow, her mouth turned downwards, and her hands placed firmly on her hips – not unlike Granger when she turned bossy.</p><p>“No headaches?”</p><p>Draco opened his mouth to deny when the elderly witch moved, no longer blocking for the sharp light, and Draco squinted his eyes and groaned in pain. She stepped back to block out the light, and this time Draco did sigh. A triumphant smirk plastered Pomfrey’s face.</p><p>“Fine, I have a nasty headache,” he grumbled, voice still hoarse from misuse. How long had he been here? It annoyed him that his voice was so weak.</p><p>“Drink this,” she said while handing him a bright blue, turquoise he thought, potion. Draco uncorked the potion – it reeked of rotten fruit, something tardy yet sickeningly sweet – and downed it without tasting it, though the aftertaste was bitter like an unripe grapefruit. His headache loosened its hold immediately, and Draco felt his shoulders relax, not even realizing before this instant that they had been pulled up to his ears. Not trusting his voice, he nodded at the witch who seemed satisfied if the quirk of her lip was anything to go by. She handed him another vial – a sleep potion – and Draco downed the content with much gratitude. A pleasant warmth spread from his stomach, making him feel relaxed as his limps felt heavy and eyelids began to droop. Draco welcomed the sleep with open arms.</p><p>Nightmares disturbed his sleep. The Dark Lord roamed the halls of the Manor like an eerie shadow, not a ghost nor a poltergeist, he was too frightening to be considered anything but a monster’s cold shadow. He awoke, startled and gasping for air, heart hammering in his chest. The room had a soft orange glow, indicating a setting sun outside. Draco guessed he had slept for a couple of hours. As his heart calmed down, Draco felt nature call, his bladder felt like bursting. He pushed the duvet aside, swinging his legs over the bed and sitting up tentatively, careful as the world started to spin at the edges of his vision. Taking in big gulps of air Draco prepared himself to stand up, and out of thin air Pomfrey materialized, a stern expression plastered on her face and eyeing him with what could only be described as a scowl.</p><p>“What are you doing Mr. Malfoy?”</p><p>“Going to the loo.”</p><p>“You most certainly are not!” Her voice pitched and Draco winced as her shrill voice felt like a dagger stabbing him in the head.</p><p>“I am.”</p><p>“Not without someone accompanying you.”</p><p>“You are not following me to the loo, I’m perfectly fine taking care of it myself,” he snapped as he felt undignified by the mere suggestion of having someone babysit him while he took a piss. He was almost a grown man and more than capable of taking a piss by himself.</p><p>“You got a serious head injury and magic can only do so much. It is important to keep an eye on you for the next couple of days to ensure that nothing serious occurs,” she answered with finality, not at all impressed by Draco’s protestations. From her tight fascial expression one might think Draco had suggested to make every Gryffindor snap their wand; she looked stern, slightly aghast by his continuing dismissal of her help. The more he bickered, the more firmly she pressed her lips together.</p><p>“Fine!” he finally exclaimed, throwing his hands up in defeat, a dull throb started at the simple motion. “If you walk me to the loo – to the door only, would that be all right?” Pomfrey took her sweet time considering the proposition, tapping her chin with her plumb fingers.</p><p>“All right then. But if you take too long, I’ll come in to check up on you.” Her voice was firm, brook no argument, and Draco knew this was non-negotiable. Feeling a direct hit at his pride, he didn’t trust his voice and gave a sharp nod, feeling heat creep up his neck.</p><p>Standing up slowly, he began the short, but never-ending walk to the loo at the other end of the room, Pomfrey walking right beside him. <em>If the floor would just stop moving…</em> he wavered, and Pomfrey caught his arm immediately, offering support which Draco brushed off, embarrassed and feeling like he had lost some of his masculinity. Finally reaching the loo he slipped inside, leaving Pomfrey waiting outside the door.</p><p>Draco leaned heavily on the sink while washing his hands, letting the cold water run and cool down his skin, swallowing several times to try to ease the nauseous. A hard knock on the door and the Pomfrey’s voice filtered through the door.</p><p>“Are you alright Mr. Malfoy?”</p><p>“Yes,” he croaked, turning off the water and making way to the door, just as she opened it. “Merlin’s beard woman, I said I was alright.” Pomfrey seemed completely unfazed, not batting an eye at his outrage and only moved from the doorway to allow him to get out. The walk back to his bed was just as long as the walk to the loo. Finally reaching his bed, he slumped down, feeling exhausted from the short trip. Pomfrey handed him two vials; one he recognised to be something to relieve nausea, which he quickly swallowed, feeling the nausea loosen its grip. The other he thought looked like the potion to relieve concussions, but he couldn’t be sure until he got to smell it. Uncorking it, the tart odour hit him, confirming his initial thought. As he emptied the vial, Pomfrey left him with a reminder that she would check up on him regularly. To this Draco had no answer but a slight dip of his chin.</p><p>Draco spend the rest of the day, staring at the ceiling and being bored. His fingers kept touching the gold chain around his neck.</p><p>___</p><p>Being in the hospital wing sucked dragon’ balls. Yesterday he had debated heavily with Pomfrey who wouldn’t allow him to have his Dreamless Sleep potion, as, apparently some important observations would be lost, if he consumed the potion. But she didn’t understand. He needed the potion in order to get a full night’s sleep. She didn’t understand how plagued of nightmares he was. And this night had been no exception, making Draco’s mood foul, as he had dreamt of his parents’ violent end. He was just thankful that he had warded his bed with silent charms, keeping his screaming hidden from the healer. Pomfrey had just left his bedside with a no-nonsense tone of voice that no, he would not be allowed to read, and yes, you are to stay here today and tomorrow. She still did not allow him to go to the restroom alone, accompanying him to the door and back to his bed. Draco tried one time to go alone, having managed half the distance when Pomfrey realised and she had scolded him. His try only made Pomfrey put wards around his bed; every time he tried to leave he alerted her and a heartbeat later, she stood in front of him. Draco was confined to his bed with nothing to do, and he was bored out of his mind. For two days. At least it couldn’t get any worse than this. There was little to do, and so Draco decided to count the cracks in the ceiling. One, two, three…</p><p>He had reached seventy-two when someone approached his bed. Turning his head, he saw to his horror that Pansy sauntered her way to his bed. Apparently, it could be worse. Draco sighed as Pansy sat at the edge of his bed, body turned towards him. She flipped her hair behind her shoulder and wrinkled her nose in distaste as she eyed Draco’s hospital clothes.</p><p>“Draco, dearest, how are you feeling? I’ve been worried sick,” she said while studying her nails. Draco rolled his eyes at her.</p><p>“I can see that.”</p><p>“Don’t be like that. I would have visited yesterday if the old hag would have allowed it.” She waved her hand in a dismissing manner while sneering, completely misunderstanding him. “Anyway, when will you be out of here?”</p><p>“Wednesday.”</p><p>“Oh, then you’ll be able present your potion to Slughorn and Snape. Who was your partner again?” She paused, tapping her chin with a polished nail while she thought, though Draco didn’t believe for a second that she actually needed to remember. Pansy had been whiny and intolerable when she hadn’t been partnered with Draco. “Hmm... wasn’t it the Gryffindor Mudblood?”</p><p>Anger flared in his chest like a flame, a flame he smothered immediately, as he hid away every tender feeling towards Granger he had, pushed them down the periwinkle box.</p><p>“Yes.” <em>Go away, leave me alone. </em></p><p>“How did you manage? She’s insufferable –” on and on she prattled. Draco zoned out, not wanting to hear her, and it wasn’t necessary to listen, as Pansy had always loved to hear her own voice. He just needed for her to leave.</p><p>“Pansy,” he interrupted some speech or other and she scowled at him, annoyed to be interrupted like that, “I wondered if you would do me a favour.”</p><p>The effect was immediate. Her annoyed scowl transformed into an expectant and hopeful smile.</p><p>“Of course, whatever you want.” Batting her eyelashes in his direction, Draco supressed the urge to shudder in revulsion. Her pathetic attempts at flirting was annoying, a never ending farce, so desperate to catch his attention and maintain it. She probably thought she was discreet, but Draco could see it for what it was: a ridiculous wish to become the future lady Malfoy.</p><p>“Could you tell me what happened? Pomfrey has been adamant in not telling me.”</p><p>“Oh.” She lowered her head, hiding her face from view, probably trying to hide the disappointed look on her face. “Well, you were chasing after the Snitch, Potter in your tail when a Bludger smashed through your broom. You were falling – like eighty metres, ridiculous long fall, I was sure you would break every bone in your body,” she sniffed, dabbing her eyes, removing non-existent tears, “– when a second Bludger hit your head.”</p><p>Draco didn’t know how to feel or react to the news. He had taken a nasty blow to the head, explaining the concussion Pomfrey mentioned yesterday, and hit the ground, which explained his sore body. He tried very hard to school his face into a blank slate but judging from Pansy’s worried glance he had failed. He cleared his throat while a hand raked through his hair. Pansy’s hand twitched.</p><p>“And then what happened?”</p><p>“Someone stopped your fall, rumour has it that the Mudblood saved you,” she said it like she thought it was preposterous to believe so, a sneer on her face, making her pug-like nose stand out even more. “As if. The filthy excuse of a witch – though I shouldn’t call her a witch, should I? – would rather let you fall and break all of your bones.”</p><p>Something warm filled his chest. She had saved him. though it was only a rumour, nothing confirmed, he just <em>knew </em>that she had saved him.</p><p>Pansy blabbered on, and Draco tried his best to nod when appropriate, but he felt his focus dwindle like a dying ember.</p><p>“Pansy, I’m exhausted. If you wouldn’t mind?” He yawned for effect and rubbed his eyes.</p><p>“Yes of course. I’ll let you rest in peace then,” she said while standing up.</p><p>“Thank you. You’re the best,” he said trying to sound grateful and charming. Pansy pecked him on the cheek and left him after several promises of returning soon, and Draco dismissed every one of them under pretence of being tired and boring to visit.</p><p>Draco was left in blissful boredom for several hours. Getting rid of Pansy was easier than he thought. Around noon, at least he thought it was noon as it seemed like he had spent a small eternity in this bed, his eyes began to droop; eyelids were heavy, and blinking became impossible. He fought hard to open his eyes after every blink, but to no avail. Blink, and his eyes remained closed.</p><p>He was thrust headfirst into a nightmare.</p><p>
  <em>He was standing in the Great Hall. The ceiling was showing him the rain filled clouds, heavy and dark and blocking out the moonlight. Every single torch was unlit. It was dark and he was unable to see properly. He could discern the long tables, the professors table, and the benches. A weird smell was present; something tangy and metallic and sickeningly sweet and earthy like a forest floor in late autumn. It reminded him of rotting food, as if the elves had forgotten to remove the food but the tables seemed to be empty as he squinted his eyes to see properly. Something buzzed ever so softly. A lightning flayed open the night, illuminating the Hall, and it enabled Draco to see for a split second. At his feet lay bodies, all bloody, all in different stages of decomposition. The weird smell in the air was the smell of the bodies, the dried blood. It was the smell of death. It made him sick. He held a hand over his nose, trying to block out the odour, only to realise how bad his hands smelled. With a beating heart he glanced down. Blood spatters all over his robes and dried blood on his hands; the dried blood crusted and contrasted with his pale skin. A fly landed on his hands, tickled him as it moved about…</em>
</p><p>He woke up, sitting up straight and frantically trying to brush off the fly. He could feel the insects crawling on his skin. Why wouldn’t it fly away? The sunlight stopped him mid-brush and he blinked, finally taking in his surroundings: the white curtains, the rows of beds, the sterile smell which slowly filled his nostrils, replacing the smell of death. But something still tickled his hand, and, for a moment, Draco feared that he would find the fly, crawling and eating the dried blood, covering his hands.</p><p>Glancing down, he saw no blood tainting his hand and no insect crawling feeding on someone’s death. A silver hair was trapped between his fingers, tickling him. A mix of annoyance and relief flooded him. He must be exhausted if a hair could cause this amount of panic. Removing the hair, he fell back into the bed, resting his head against the pillow.</p><p>He stared up into the ceiling, bored out of his mind. Time moved so slow in here. He wondered what Granger was doing. He missed her. He hadn’t seen her in what felt like forever, even though it had only been a couple of days. Since when had he become so needy? He clutched the necklace again, letting his finger rub over the engraved G. Thinking about Granger only managed to sadden him, and he changed course of his thoughts. They wandered to his Father. <em>How was he doing in Azkaban? Was he losing his mind this second? Did the Dementors even want him? </em>Draco was unsure how many happy memories his Father had. He supposed he had some, everybody did after all, but a small part of Draco, the child who only wanted to be recognised and accepted, wondered how many happy memories were about him.</p><p>Heavy footsteps interrupted Draco’s thoughts. Crabbe and Goyle walked through the door, and Draco instantly let go of the necklace and hid it under his shirt. He was not in the mood to see them. Sleep deprived and annoyed that he was. They wore a rather comic fascial expression; they tried to look serious and stern, trying so hard to give the appearance that they meant business, but only made them look constipated and in pain.</p><p>Without invitation they sat.</p><p>“How much longer are you going to be here?” Goyle asked.</p><p>“A couple of days.”</p><p>“I didn’t mean to hit you. I was aiming for Potter he was right in your tail. If I had hit him, I don’t know what happened… is this going to affect your…” Goyle paused, glancing around the room, and then lowered his voice, “<em>mission?</em>” he non-whispered. Draco felt his temper rising, not for the first time, Draco wondered how they had never learned the simple art of whispering. Even children managed.</p><p>“Keep your voice down!” he shushed him. “Everything is going according to plan.” <em>Lies. I am doomed. Mother is doomed.</em></p><p>“Do you still need us to keep watch on sixth floor?” Crabbe asked, a little quitter than Goyle’s pathetic attempt at whispering.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“People har starting to uhm notice and ask questions,” Goyle ventured, sensing Draco’s short temper. <em>Merlin, how stupid are they?</em></p><p>“Then change your appearances.” They both gave him a blank look, eyes glazed over like he had just spoken in a foreign language. <em>They really are the stupidest students to ever roam the corridors of Hogwarts. They probably don’t have a brain when combined. </em>“Polyjuice, you idiots!”</p><p>“But it’ll take months,” Goyle whined while shaking his head. Crabbe agreed while nodding vigorously, making his apple cheeks bounce.</p><p><em>Merlin strike me now their stupidity is going to be the death of me. </em>Draco narrowed his eyes at them.</p><p>“You sure there aren’t any Weasley in you?” Draco very well knew, that if you traced the family lines back, somewhere there would have been a marriage with the Weasleys. The effect on the boys were immediate; both turned scarlet red, clenched their jaws, visibly offended by his remark. <em>Ah yes, both of them have some Weasley relation a couple of generations back. </em>Crabbe opened his mouth to answer, but Draco beat him to it. “Why the bloody Hell would you brew it? Aren’t your family rich, Crabbe? Or did Mommy drink up all the money when Daddy got sent to Azkaban?” Crabbe got even angrier, looking like he might explode from the barely held back fury.</p><p>“How dare you!” Crabbe sputtered, clenching his meaty hands. Goyle remained silent.</p><p>“Then stop acting like your poor and buy the damned potion,” Draco snapped. They gave a stiff nod, rose from the chairs and left, leaving Draco in blessed peace.</p><p>–––</p><p>Startled, Draco woke from another nightmare only a couple of hours after he fell asleep. He was unable to go back to sleep, and he stared into the dark room. He guessed it was a few hours past midnight. The pale moonlight illuminated the room ever so slightly and he was able to see the outlines from the other bed. The moon illuminated a tree outside; as the wind pushed the branches it made the shadows dance on the floor, and the branches transformed into claws trying to reach him in his bed. He could hear the wind as it howled outside. Or was it the wind which howled? Was he certain that it wasn’t screams from somewhere in the castle? He swore he could hear footsteps; soft, but determined, pads against the stone floor. Closer, and closer, and closer. His pulse quickened, pulsing in his ears. The wind kept screaming, someone kept screaming. He heard the branches scrape against the glass. Or was it claws scraping his skull? His skin crawled, and at the nape of his neck was prickling while goosebumps erupted on his arms.</p><p>Suddenly all noises in the world ceased to exist except the loud thump of his rapid pulse and laboured breathing. The Dark Lord whispered in his ear with an ice cold breath, ruffling his hair and making it tickle against his cheek.</p><p>“Wasting your precious time. Do you want to die? Your mother has such pretty screams. Your failure has cost her dearly. Perhaps you need to be motivated. Nagini is hungry, always thirsting for fresh blood. I wonder if she would enjoy the taste of pure blood.”</p><p>“Lumos!”</p><p>He sat upright, heart in his throat. The light from the wand chased away the shadows. He frantically searched the room and tried to illuminate every corner.</p><p>No one was here. Had he finally snapped? Had he finally lost his mind? Or was it caused by the lack of sleep? Either way, he knew he couldn’t sleep. He settled back when he was sure that he was truly alone.</p><p>He let his mind wander. Trying to count all of the paintings with black haired people, then blond hair, then red hair. He then tried to recount all of the hidden passages he knew of. The one on the sixth floor, which led back to the Grand Staircase, the one in the dungeons which led to the Defence Against the Darks Arts classroom, the one –</p><p>Like a lightning, clear as day, a thought struck him: what if it wasn’t the cabinet which was broken? What if it was the passage <em>between </em>the cabinets? Why on earth hadn’t he thought about this earlier?</p><p>In his mind he started to catalogue every spell, every ritual, and every rune he had ever used on the cabinet, and how he had combined them. He could try to use them on the passage, make a list and go through it systematically. Some spells he altered slightly to better fit the purpose. He could hardly wait getting out of here. He barely noticed the hours ticking by.</p><p>Tomorrow he would be released from this place. Another night, another night with dreams.</p><p>Dreams of torture.</p><p>Dreams of death.</p><p>Dreams of despair.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Hermione </strong>
</p><p>Hermione had started to prepare for the upcoming exams. She had little else to do as Harry still didn’t have the memory from Slughorn which Dumbledore needed, and Draco was still in hospital. She had been surprised by how much she missed him. Her days had been less stimulating. She hadn’t realised how much she relied on their conversations on a regular basis. And she missed his arrogant smirk, Merlin help her, but she had grown fond of his condescending demeanour. A facade he would let fall whenever they were alone, only for it to reappear from time to time when he was teasing her. Hermione tugged at her hair, letting her fingers run through her curls and being stopped by stubborn tangles here and there, only for her to comb through them sloppily, while she read in the book in front of her.</p><p>
  <em>… The Imperius Curse was made an Unforgivable in 1717 along with the Cruciatus Curse and the Avada Kedavra Curse. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The Imperius Curse induces a partial paralysis of the neocortex and prefrontal cortex which reduces the victim’s capacity of independent thought.</em>
</p><p>Normally she would be absorbed in the book, desperately yearning for the knowledge it held, but today her mind kept wandering off in different directions and she found it difficult to concentrate on the words. She would reread the same sentence several times. As her mind wandered yet again, she shook her head violently.</p><p><em>Concentrate! Take a deep breath and then continue to read. </em>Hermione continued to let her eyes wander back to the page, starting from the top, yet again, as she had lost count on how many times she ahd tried to read the same paragraph.</p><p>
  <em>… The Imperius Curse was made an Unforgivable in 1717 along with the Cruciatus Curse and the Avada Kedavra Curse. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The Imperius Curse induces a partial paralysis of the neocortex and prefrontal cortex which reduces the victim’s capacity of independent thought, thus enabling the caster of the curse control over the victim. Resisting the Imperius Curse is possible, but requires great strength of will and character. The fact that it can be resisted makes it unique amongst the Unforgivable Curses as it is the only curse that has a direct manner of defence. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Resisting the Imperius Curse is similar to Occlumency which too requires a great amount of willpower, though there are no evidence that a skilled Occlumens can withstand the Cruciatus Curse better than the ordinary wizard or witch.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A poorly cast Imperius Curse can have an ever-lasting damaging effect on the victim where mental damage is the most common side effect. Some victims experience memory loss while others change personality or their mental state reverse to a younger self. Although the causes for these changes are unknown, it is widely acknowledged that it is the dark magic in combination with an unskilled hand which destroys certain neurons in the neocortex and prefrontal cortex.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Victims describes a warm and pleasant feeling when under the curse’s influence. They describe in great detail how their concerns and fears are gently wiped away and all that is left is a vague, untraceable happiness.</em>
</p><p>She had read about this particular subject already, had she not? It was so familiar, but she couldn’t pinpoint when she had read it. Where was her head today? It was nagging her; she was certain that she had already read these exact pages, already learned the knowledge the pages held. But she couldn’t remember. Even her inner library didn’t give her an answer, like the book which contained this information, was on a top shelf out of her reach. She wasn’t usually like this, and it annoyed her to no end. Never had she ever been unable to concentrate on a book.</p><p>“Hi Mione,” a deep male voice said somewhere to her right. Hermione didn’t need to look to know that it was Ron who had disturbed her reading. His voice was as familiar to her as her parents’ voices. Though he didn’t disturb much, as Hermione had struggled to concentrate. What he had disturbed however, was her thoughts circling Draco. Perhaps this interruption was what she needed; someone forcing her to focus on anything else than the blond Slytherin who occupied her mind.</p><p>“Hi Ron.”</p><p>“Exam preparations?” he asked as he sat down next to her. She could see him out the corner of her eye.</p><p>“Yes.” She furrowed her brow and narrowed her eyes at the book. He was silent then, and Hermione started from the beginning, yet again.</p><p>“What are you reading?” He craned his neck to read the page she as currently stuck on.</p><p>“The Unforgivables.”</p><p>“Didn’t Moody – er, Barty jnr. – already teach us this? Why are you reading about it again?” <em>I knew it! I knew we already covered this.</em> Hermione knew she couldn’t tell him, that she had forgotten – she never forgot anything from curriculum, – that she couldn’t seem to focus properly – nor did she ever get distracted from her reading, not ever! – and said the first thing to come to mind.</p><p>“Yes, but I wanted to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything.”</p><p>“Of course.” He was silent again, and Hermione continued to struggle with the book.</p><p>Apparently, Ron’s presence didn’t help her concentration, as she, once again found her mind wandering to Draco, and she wondered how he was doing. She had heard nothing, not a single rumour had slipped from the Slytherin table. She didn’t understand; usually every single person in Hogwarts knew about Draco. In third year, after the incident with Buckbeak, Slytherin had been in an uproar, and, at the time, it had seemed like everyone contributed to the rumour mill. Some had sworn that the hippogriff had attacked Draco with no provocation, other swore that Hagrid had let Buckbeak lose on Draco.<br/>And now there was silence. Not a single syllable escaping their midst. It was strange, and not like them at all. Even Pansy Parkinson had been remarkably quiet, though she was grateful for it. She wasn’t sure if she could stand Parkinson’s voice, as she had always found it grating. A small almost inaudible sigh escaped her. It was fruitless to speculate. There was nothing she could do anyway.</p><p>Ron started drumming on the table, an unsteady beat with no rhythm. The random tapping on wood disturbed her even more. Hermione silently cursed. Her hands snaked up in her hair, her nails scraping against her scalp. The muscles in her face tightened; her mouth was a thin line, her jaw tight. Ron’s drumming continued and Hermione pulled at the strands, on the verge of painful. It would properly be more frizzled than usual by her rough treatment, she mused, realising the fistful she held and grabbed a new fistful of hair further back her head as the drumming seemed to increase in volume; every time his fingers made contact with the table it sounded like someone was hammering right next to her. Though, she supposed, Ron had succeeded in distracting her from thinking about Draco.  Hermione was about to snap at him and ask him to stop when he spoke.</p><p>“Did you consider Christmas?”</p><p>“Mmm.” She turned the page, having gived up trying to read the same page for the umpteenth time. Frustrated. This was so unlike her.</p><p>“And?” Hermione glanced up, realizing she hadn’t elaborated her previous answer.</p><p>“I’ll stay home this year. But thank you for inviting me.”</p><p>“Oh… okay, I mean – yeah sure.”</p><p>Unsure as what to say, she offered him a smile; not a real smile, more a tug on her lips really, and her eyes found the pages once again.</p><p>Silence took hold once again. And this time it prevailed. Hermione was able to read several chapters (finally, she had wasted so much time already, and being able to just dive headfirst into the pages was relieving), Ron a quiet companion, absorbed in his own thoughts. Sighs could still be heard flittering through the air: passing through the shelves and reaching her small sanctuary.</p><p>“Are you going to Slughorn’s party next Friday?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Do you have a date?”</p><p>“No, I don’t.”</p><p>“Then why don’t we go together?” He offered her a bright smile, one that made the corner of his eyes crinkle.</p><p>“Uhm, I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Ron.” His smile faltered.</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>Hermione hesitated for a heartbeat, considering er words carefully. “I just think this means more to you than it does to me.”</p><p>“Wha – I thought we were going to – I mean, didn’t we?” he paused, balled his hands into fists and breathing in deeply and rubbed his face with his big palm. “Last month, when I – you know – asked how the potion was going – you remember? – and I said I wanted to be with you, and you… er… haven’t replied. And I broke it off with Lavender, because I’m serious, about you – about us.”</p><p>There was a ringing in her ears, her mouth dry. She found it hard to comprehend what he had just said. His almost confession and there was the only thing she had picked up. He had dumped Lavender?</p><p>“You broke up with Lavender?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“We – Lavender and I – aren’t right for each other.” He shrugged his shoulders, like this whole affair had just been a slip up, like it didn’t even matter to him. And perhaps it didn’t.</p><p>“Ron, I don’t think we were – are – right for each other either,” she tried to say in a soothing voice.</p><p>“But I do!” he exclaimed, standing up and pushing the chair back, the wood scraping against the stone floor. “I still believe we belong together!”</p><p>“Ron –”</p><p>“Don’t you feel it? It just feels right to me, Hermione,” he crouched in front of her and took her hands in his, begging her, his voice soft and pleading. His thumb rubbed random patterns on her skin</p><p>“No, Ron, I don’t. We tried and it didn’t work out.” She gently pulled her hands out from his grip – or as gently as she could manage while still being stern.</p><p>“But it could. Now when you don’t have to spend all your time with the bloody ferret. It will be different.”</p><p><em>No, it won’t. Because I’m different. I changed. </em>She badly wanted to say it, but the words was locked in her throat, unable to escape, and all she could do was to shake her head.</p><p>“Mione, please, I love you.” His voice trembled and she could see how wet his eyes became. He was hurting and Hermione’s heart ached to soothe, make the hurt go away, but she knew she could never remove this pain. She was the cause. Once, his confession was all she had ever wanted to – wished to – hear, but now it did little to stir any emotions except regret. Regret that she had to break his heart. As the words slipped past his lips, Hermione knew – had known it for a while, but his declaration only made her absolutely certain – that the only love she felt towards Ron was a platonic one, like one would love a sibling.</p><p>“Please Ron, you’re my best friend. I don’t want to lose you.” Hermione struggled with tears of her own. The thought of losing her friend – one of her first friends ever – broke her.</p><p>“Don’t you love me anymore?” he whispered, voice quivering. A hand reached for her – her cheek, or shoulder, she didn’t know. She didn’t want his touch. Not like this.</p><p>She shook her head and a single tear slipped past his lashes, glinting in the light.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>Hermione watched his heart break in front her.</p><p>–––</p><p>He strutted down the rows of tables in the Great Hall, he was the personification of arrogance and confidence. Back straight, smirk in place, hands in his pockets, and not a single hair out of place. He looked like he hadn’t got a single care in the world as he seated himself at the Slytherin table. Of course, his nonchalant arrival resulted in heated whispers and several stares. He just sat there, drinking his tea, like he didn’t know they were all talking about him. Or like he didn’t care. Or maybe he was used to be the centre of attention, he was the Malfoy heir after all. Hermione, however, saw the slight slump in his shoulders and the darkening underneath his eyes. Like the days spent in the hospital had been without any sleep. And it worried her. He was supposed to get better in Pomfrey’s care, not look worse for wear. She wanted so badly to go to him, sit with him and ask him how he felt, as he looked like he had spent the night – or several nights – with a Dementor; exhausted, unusually pale, and with little energy. And she couldn’t. Unable to visit him, unable to comfort him. It would ruin their secret. And it had to be a secret. Didn’t it? Would it be so terrible if she just got up, walked the ten metres or so to the Slytherin table and just sat down next to him? How could it be terrible? She liked him, and she was sure he liked her as well.  She wanted it, so so badly. Her muscles were ready to do it, already tense with anticipation. Without her noticing she had stood and was now walking.<br/>A book – black leather adorned with a carving of a dog on the cover – in her library fell, hitting the floor and opening on a page and the memory of Sirius telling Harry, Ron and Hermione about his childhood, how his awful mother had abused him, had shunned him for no other reason than Sirius being a Gryffindor and enjoying Muggle inventions and music, and it stopped her dead in the tracks. She couldn’t do this, couldn’t do this to Draco. It wasn’t her secret to tell, not really. Sure, Harry and Ron would be confused, maybe even angry or hurt, but she had little doubt that they would eventually forgive her. But Draco’s parents… she wasn’t sure. Based on her knowledge of Lucius, she doubted he would be pleased. He might shun Draco, or, Merlin forbid, hurt him.<br/>Her pause had taken little more than half a second, and she didn’t count that anyone would have noticed her pause, as she changed her trajectory, aiming now to leave the Great Hall.</p><p>The day went by achingly slow; she could hardly wait for it to end. When it finally did she had to refrain from running to the Room of Requirements. Ron had avoided her ever since their talk yesterday, not even glancing in her direction – however, she seen the wounded expression on his face when she had joined Harry at breakfast before he stood up and left, Harry one big question mark – and Harry was distracted by something Dean said. Now was her chance to slip away unnoticed.</p><p>“I’m going to the library,” she said, not expecting to be heard, as Quidditch was the subject and the boys were absorbed in the topic.</p><p>“Oh, I’ll join you,” a voice said from behind her. Turning her head she saw Neville. <em>Damn! </em>She hadn’t noticed Neville’s presence, and he wasn’t the biggest fan of Quidditch either. It wasn’t so strange that he wished to escape the intense conversation on positions and strategies.</p><p>Forcing a smile on her face she answered Neville.</p><p>“Sure, that’ll be wonderful, Neville. I’ll see you later Harry.” Harry only nodded in her general direction, saying something or other to Dean about a new formation, and Hermione turned to leave, Neville tagging along. On their way to the library – damn, damn, damn, she really wanted to go to the Room of Requirement – Neville told her how he and Ron had struggled to find an appropriate potion and how their first attempts had been a failure, but they had managed to brew an antidote which they could use to counter a weak acid hex. The antidote, though not nearly as complex as the one Hermione had originally planned for her and Draco to brew, was complex enough to pass with an A or E, depending on Snape’s mood, she thought.</p><p>The library was bustling with activity. Every table and chair were occupied; huge piles of books on the tables forming small forts, students hiding behind books, only the crown of their head visible. The sweet sound of pages turned, books being closed and put back on the shelf, and heavy sighs filled the air.</p><p>Hermione had a permission slip from Professor McGonagall to browse the Restricted Section, as she wanted to prepare for the exams. She walked down the aisles, letting her finger touch the books’ spines as she searched for the book she needed to improve her transfiguration, an old and very valuable book, which explored transfiguration of semi sentinel beings such as manticores. She knew it was here, Madam Pince had confirmed it. Her fingers traced the titles: <em>Wicked Curses, Herbology: Most Rare, Dark Creatures and Their Habitats, Magic of the Vikings, Magical Torture of the Third Century…</em></p><p>Hermione and Neville read in silence, a silence only their quills disturbed. He asked a question every now and then and Hermione answered readily.</p><p>Hours crept by, Hermione anxiously feeling time slip by: she wanted, no <em>needed,</em> to see Draco, she had been terrified and anxious and… Time went by too slow.</p><p>She heard Neville rustling beside her, books being shut, parchment being stuffed into a bag, inkpot being closed, stool scraping.</p><p>“I’m off to dinner. Are you joining, Hermione?”</p><p>“No thank you, I’ll just stay here.”</p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p>“Yes. I’ll see you later, Neville.”</p><p>“Okay.” He turned and left. Hermione waited ten minutes, then she packed up her things and left the library in brisk steps.</p><p>She paced in front of the bare wall, wishing to go to their room. The door appeared, and she slipped inside. It was empty. She nibbled at her bottom lip. Hesitating in the door for a few heartbeats, she made way to the couch. There wasn’t a fire in hearth today; only a dim ember to warm up the room. Hermione made herself comfortable and opened a book. Every few minutes she glanced at her wristwatch. Why hadn’t he showed up yet? Surely, he would know, she wanted to see him. He would come, he had to. Perhaps his House mates withheld him, asking questions about his days in the hospital, or he would tell the story of his accident from his own point of view. He would come.</p><p>Another glance at her watch. Only an hour until curfew. He could still make it. It wouldn’t be much time, but enough to make sure, that he was alright.</p><p>Less than an hour. Maybe he was unable to get away from his fellow Slytherins. If they were bombarding him with questions… He would come. Right?</p><p>Twenty minutes. But what if he didn’t want to come? Did he regret their relationship? Had the accident opened his eyes, as to what he wanted – and she wasn’t it?</p><p>Ten minutes. He wasn’t coming, and a stone settled over her heart.</p><p>She was disappointed.</p><p>She was angry.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Now you read the chapter, I hope the dialogue wasn’t too awful (nervous laugh). </p><p>Not a lot of Dramione (sorry) but this chapter is needed to further the plot. Next update will be more Dramione, I promise.</p><p>Also I updated the estimated chapter count – this thing spiralled out of control and has now got a life of its own.</p><p>Stay safe.<br/>Much love.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for your kind and encouraging words – they mean the world to me.<br/>My concussion symptoms have been regressing, thankfully but I still have a long way to go before I’m completely rid of them.<br/>I’m so so so grateful for each and every comment, kudos and bookmark, you are too kind. </p><p>I doubt very much that I’ll have a chapter before Christmas, so I have little present for you guys in this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><strong>Hermione </strong><br/>The door slammed open with a bang as it collided with the wall, interrupting her mid sentence. Annoyed she glared behind her shoulder, her brows drawn tightly together, ready to glare at him, but her expression evaporated like mist in the sun. He was breathtakingly beautiful, stealing away the air from her lungs, as he elegantly strode in, not even caring that he was five minutes late and Snape looked displeased, to say the least, with a sneer forming his mouth and a lowered head which enabled him to glower at Draco, his black eyes shooting daggers at him. He hadn’t even bothered with his outer robes; only wearing the white button up shirt and his tie. The dark circles under Draco’s eyes were almost gone, faint shadows were all that was left.</p><p>Hermione forgot how angry she was just for a second. Then the anger returned. And the hurt. It bloomed in her chest, constricted her stomach, and the air returned to her lungs. Abruptly she turned her head away from him. She cleared her throat.</p><p>“As I was saying, we decided to brew The Essence of Life. It was quite the challenge. Though the preparation of ingredients weren’t as complex as Polyjuice, the time it needed to brew and the number of stirs it required, proved to be challenging –”</p><p>“Not to mention how sensitive the potion is. We were unable to use unnecessary magic, as it would ruin the potion per instructions –”</p><p>“While a single mistake would ruin the potion as well. We therefore both counted the stirs, making sure that the number of stirs were correct – ”</p><p>“As some of the ingredients are extremely rare and the brew time so long, it would be impossible to remake the potion if we were to fail this potion.”</p><p>Hermione huffed in annoyance, sat back in her chair and crossed her arms, shooting Draco another glare.</p><p>
  <em>Annoying, pompous, self-centred, arrogant prick. Not showing up yesterday, showing up late being his usually beautiful self, interrupting me… </em>
</p><p>“A very rare potion. Why, I haven’t heard of it’s brewing in several years! Phoenix tears are extremely rare – and expensive, as you pointed out Mr. Malfoy – why I haven’t ever seen Phoenix tears. Albus has a Phoenix of course, but you can’t <em>make </em>a Phoenix cry on command. And Albus has ignored my pleas to save a tear or two. I suppose the tears were provided by you, Mr. Malfoy?” She dared a glance at Draco. Smirk plastered on his face he dipped his chin in confirmation. “Mr. Malfoy, you simply <em>must </em>share your supplier, I imagine he must have other rare ingredients, and – as I am the potions master – it would be most beneficial ah – to the school, of course – if I had access to such a resourceful supplier and –”</p><p>“And your curse? To which curse is this potion a counter curse?” Snape drawled in an annoyed low voice, not looking impressed by their efforts, effectively shutting Slughorn’s prattle down. Slughorn, on the other hand, had a smile stretching from ear to ear, eyes glinting with something which was unfamiliar to Hermione. Slughorn almost bounced in his seat.</p><p>“You see, Professor, it does not just counter <em>one </em>curse it –”</p><p>“It counters several curses. As long as they were invented in the 15<sup>th</sup> century – or prior – this potion will work as a counter curse,” Draco interrupted. Hermione scowled at him, trying to be discreet as her two professors sat across from her.</p><p>“Very interesting. You said that the curses had to be invented in the 15<sup>th</sup> century or prior, but what about curses invented later than the 15<sup>th</sup> century?” Slughorn asked. Draco smirked.</p><p>“We actually tested it, Professor,” Draco said, self-satisfied and leaned back into his chair, crossing his arms in front of his chest, momentarily distracting Hermione as the fabric stretched over the planes of his chest. She saved the sight of the white fabric stretching over his skin in one of her books.</p><p>“Yes?” Slughorn asked, leaning forward in his chair, and, for a moment, Hermione worried Slughorn might tip over as he sat at the edge of the chair, belly pulling him towards the floor.</p><p>“It didn’t counteract them, but it did manage to slow the curse considerably, however, making it possible to counteract the curse with the counter curse,” Hermione said, a smile pulling at her lips. Slughorn looked astounded, mouth slightly agape, eyes big and round, and eyebrows nearing his hairline.</p><p>“Is that so?” Slughorn sounded almost giddy. Snape sat still as a statue, dark and gloomy, the complete opposite of Slughorn. Hermione nodded. “I think it is perhaps time to test your potion, wouldn’t you say so Severus?”</p><p>“I agree. The sooner the better. We’ve already wasted a lot of time,” Snape said while sending Slughorn a pointed look.</p><p>“Of course, Professor,” Draco said smoothly, inclining his head. Hermione placed the vial containing the potion on the table in front of them along with a quill.</p><p><em>Lapifors.</em> A wave with her wand and the quill morphed into a brown rabbit. Hermione quickly numbed the rabbit, set up wards and diagnostics. Draco cast the flaying hex, the effect was immediate as the rabbit was flayed and the diagnostics turned red. Hermione gave the animal a drop of the potion and the skin was replaced, red charts turning deep green, and just like that, it was as if the rabbit had never been cursed in the first place. Draco then cast the boiling curse, and once again the effect was immediate. Once again Hermione gave it a drop, and the rabbit was healthy once again. This repeated itself; broken bones, burns, boils. All horrible. All invented to torture. All counteracted by the potion. They then demonstrated the potions effect on more recent curses; acid, slicing, disfiguring, all were slowed down, providing Hermione and Draco with more than sufficient time to cast the counter curse.</p><p>“This is outstanding work!” Slughorn exclaimed and clapped his hands in front of him. “I haven’t seen such an ambition and perfection since –” Slughorn cut himself off, a cloud covering his eyes. A heartbeat later and he shook his head. “Nevertheless, this is extraordinary work, wouldn’t you agree, Severus?”</p><p>“Certainly. Though the assignment was <em>one </em>curse to counteract, not –”</p><p>“Pish posh, Severus. They were ambitious. Nothing wrong with that. You truly are a Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy. What a shame we couldn’t get you as well, Ms. Granger. You would have been a fine addition to our house.”</p><p>“Uhm, thank you, Professor,” she mumbled and shifted in her seat. A fine addition perhaps, but mostly unwelcome by the proud Purebloods who primarily lived in the dungeons, only occasionally welcoming Halfbloods. Never Muggleborned.</p><p>“This pairing was an excellent idea, didn’t I tell you, Severus?”</p><p>“Indeed. Hopefully, considering Mr. Malfoy’s and Ms. Granger’s history, no incidents occurred during their… collaboration.”</p><p>Hermione glanced at Draco, unsure as to what to reply.</p><p>“Nothing happened, Sir,” Draco said, and Hermione thought she saw something flicker over Draco’s face; it was quick, a blink and you’ll miss it moment, and perhaps it had been nothing at all? Perhaps it had been her imagination. His face was a blank slate, like it always was whenever she saw him in public. Surely, she’d imagined… whatever it was which had flicked over his face.</p><p>“See, Severus? I told him that your academic ambition would be more important than some petty ah disagreement from years back, but he was reluctant – I had to push him quite a bit, you see –”</p><p>“That’s enough, Horace,” Snape interrupted, his lips turned downwards, his eyes hard like black granite.</p><p>“Yes yes of course. Back to the matter at hand. Mr. Malfoy, Ms. Granger, your work is impeccable and only one grade can truly mark your performance. You’ll get an O – of course.” Slughorn eyed the potion again, rubbing his chin, while his eyes glinted in the light.</p><p>“Thank you, Professor.”<br/>“You may leave,” Snape dismissed them with a wave of his hand.</p><p>They both stood and Hermione grabbed the vial which was still over threequarters full and pocketed it. She flung her bag over her shoulder, mumbled her thanks once again and turned to leave the classroom. Draco was faster and reached the door first. He opened it and allowed her to leave first (she was certain it was only because Slughorn and Snape were watching). With her chin held high she stalked pasted him.</p><p>“… this so calmly? Can’t you see the pure genius? My, I thought I’d taught you better than that, Severus…”</p><p>Slughorn’s voice carried as Draco closed the door behind them. She didn’t wait in the corridor, she turned to her right and left him standing at the door. She could almost feel his eyes on her back, and she was tempted to glance back. Setting her jaw, she kept on walking, refusing herself the bittersweet glance at his stupidly handsome face.</p><p>She neared the grand staircase, only two more turns and she would be there.</p><p>Someone bumped into her shoulder from behind. Not forcefully enough to make her stumble and drop her belongings, but still with enough force to make her realise that it had been no accident, it was an intentional act. Glancing up, Draco was in front of her, glancing behind his shoulder and catching her eyes.</p><p>The slightest jerk of his head. Like he wanted her to follow him. Two emotions made themselves known at that moment. One of them was relief. He still wanted to spend time with her, he hadn’t forgotten about her. The other was anger. The simple notion, the arrogant thought, that she would just follow him, like he hadn’t avoided her yesterday, made her temper flare to life, sending her blood to a boiling point.</p><p>He’d already rounded the next corner. She huffed and then resumed walking. She caught sight of him as he turned the next corner, obviously heading for the staircase. Grumbling under her breath she followed him. She already knew where he was headed. Hesitating only for a moment she followed him.</p><p>Up the stairs, down the corridors, around the corners, using the secret passages, past the paintings.</p><p>All the way to bare wall. A short pace and the door materialized.</p><p>He turned the moment she stepped through.</p><p>“Granger –”</p><p>“What? What do you want, Draco?” Her arms were crossed in front of her chest, squeezing against her chest. Whether she tried to hold in the raging storm of emotions or protecting herself from his dismissal, she didn’t know, neither did she particularly care at the moment.</p><p>“Are you angry?” He’d a crease in his forehead.</p><p>“No.” Her response was immediate, and it surprised her at how truthful it was: she was mad, but the dominant feeling was hurt.</p><p>He narrowed his eyes into two slits.</p><p>“Really?” he sounded like he didn’t believe her at all, disbelief colouring his voice.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>He stared at her for a few seconds, eyes searching her face. His own face was tight, lips pursed, eyes narrowed. Then, all of a sudden, his face softened. He reached for her hand, and while keeping eye contact, placed a soft kiss on her knuckles.</p><p>“Sorry,” he said against her skin. His warm breath tickled her, ghosted across her skin. “I’m sorry I didn’t show up yesterday. I would’ve if I could’ve.”</p><p>She detected no lie; his face open and eyes holding hers. It wasn’t even a conscious choice, she just knew, instinctively, she forgave him, trusting his words to be true.</p><p>Still with her hand in his grasp, he pulled her to the couch, settling down. With a flick of his wand he summoned two books. He handed her one and flipped open his own, already engrossed with the words. Hermione tried to read her own book, but she couldn’t keep her eyes from Draco. She was so, so close to him, and she took the opportunity to really look at him, take in his profile with the light reflecting in his white hair and blond lashes, really showcasing how long they were. Once again she was struck at just how beautiful he was.</p><p>“How are you feeling?”</p><p>“I’m fine Granger,” he dismissed her with a wave of his hand and Hermione saw his jaw clench – only for a second, and then it was gone. If she hadn’t been watching him closely she would have missed it entirely.</p><p>“Uhu.” Her eyes narrowed.</p><p>“Really, I’m fine.” The muscles in his jaw tightened again, only half a heartbeat, and then they loosened again, smoothing out his face.</p><p>“Draco?”</p><p>“Damn it, Granger, I’m fine. I swear.” He didn’t snap at her, didn’t even sound annoyed, but rather tired. Like he hadn’t slept in a decade. And a clenched jaw, muscles tight like he was in pain. Maybe he was. He’d recently suffered a concussion after all, not to mention a shattered leg. White snow with a red stain flashed before her eyes. She blinked and tucked away the memory in one of his books.</p><p>“Yes, thank you, I got that,” she rolled her eyes at him. He pursed his lips. “Why didn’t you come over last night?” it came out weaker than she had intended; too fragile, too quaky, too vulnerable. It made her cringe.</p><p>He didn’t seem to notice, however.</p><p>“I got held up in the Common Room,” he shrugged, answering without hesitation. “I’m sorry. By the time I got away from the vultures curfew had already begun.” Tight muscles, loosened muscles, eyes darting over the page.</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>His head jerked up, and in the same motion he closed the book with a snap, turning to her and giving her all of his attention.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Hermione,” her name on his tongue sent pleasant shivers down her spine. Never had her name sounded this beautiful, as if he caressed every syllable with his tongue. She found, she liked hearing her name. He’d only ever uttered her name a handful of times, primarily using her surname when addressing her, making the use of her given name that more special</p><p>She hardly put up a fight when he placed the book on the table and pulled her to his side, lips finding hers.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Draco </strong>
</p><p>He’d spent all night on the fucking piece of junk; neglected much needed sleep. He’d worked through his mental list of spells and rituals and runes, by themselves and in combination, his focus on the passage. With each failing spell, rune or ritual his desperation only grew. This was his third plan; one of the plans had already failed sending an innocent – an innocent who hadn’t deserved this, he had nearly <em>killed </em>her, and the memory brought him a nauseating feeling, so very close he’d been to become a murderer – to St. Mungos, and the other plan… fucking Slughorn. Why couldn’t he just gift Dumbledore the wine already? He’d clearly not indulged himself; Slughorn was very much alive and well, something he certainly wouldn’t have been if he had sipped the wine. As it was, an expensive wine and a very expensive poison were gathering dust, somewhere in Slughorn’s office. He didn’t recall seeing the bottle when he’d ventured into the office to steal the vial of Ployjuice – not his proudest moment, especially considering how his plan had failed so spectacularly. He couldn’t fail this too. It would a death sentence. For him. His Mother. His Father. He had to succeed. At the very least show some progress, buying himself more time. More time to save his parents. More time to save himself.</p><p>Spending the night in the Room of Requirement also meant he’d neglected to see Granger. While catching his breath during the night he’d wondered if she’d waited in their room. If she had, had she been disappointed when he hadn’t showed up? Perhaps even sad?<br/>He’d missed her terribly while being hospitalized. He’d grown accustomed to her presence, perhaps even addicted.</p><p>He hadn’t seen her all day; every break between classes he’d found himself here; standing in front of the blasted cabinet, working his way through his mental list. All of them had been failures, adding to the already impressing number of failures. He barely arrived at classes on time, trying to spend as much time as he could on the cabinet.</p><p>He drew the pentagram on the floor, having the cabinet standing in the centre. Each corner contained a number of runes; each meant “to repair” or “safe journey”. Three bowls of sage were burning, the scent permeating the air, making Draco cough. He procured his wand and started to mumble an enchantment. When finished he placed an apple in the cabinet and closed the door.</p><p>“<em>Harmonia nectere passus</em>,” he chanted the words which would send the apple to the cabinet’s twin.</p><p>Opening the door, he found the apple to be the exact same place he’d put it. It seemed to mock him as it stood there, untouched. He no longer bore hope that this time, this spell, this combination of runes, this ritual, would prove to work. No, too many failing attempts had robbed away his hope.</p><p>Frustrated, he kicked the cabinet, only to regret it the second his toes made contact with the solid wood. He yelped in pain and scowled at the cabinet.</p><p>Another failure. How much more could he handle? He allowed himself a moment of rest; sliding down the wall, head lolled back and resting against the hard stones. He felt overheated, and he yanked at his collar and tie, desperate to get some air. He closed his eyes. The cold from the stones cooled him down.</p><p>Once cooled down sufficiently he rose. He had enough time for one more try. A flick of his wrist and he’d vanished the pentagram, runes, and sage. With his wand he carved runes into the polished wood, most of them repetitions from earlier: safe journey, repair, reopen, passage. Once again he mumbled an enchantment. And like countless of times before he spoke the enchantment to make the apple disappear.</p><p>“<em>Harmonia nectere passus</em>.”</p><p>Mechanically he opened the door. His heart paused, breath caught in his throat and he blinked.</p><p>The apple was gone, air replacing the spot the apple once occupied.</p><p>His heartrate doubled, pounding hard in his chest. The apple was gone. The question was: where had the apple gone to? Had it disappeared to Merlin knew where, or had it travelled the distance to its twin, currently situated at the Manor? He waited five minutes, barely breathing, heart pounding hard.</p><p>“<em>Harmonia nectere passus</em>.”</p><p>Taking a deep breath, he opened the door.</p><p>The apple was there, cut in half like he’d instructed Mother to do. He stared at it, not believing his eyes, his brain refusing to process the information.</p><p>He’d succeeded.</p><p>He had succeeded!</p><p>It was euphoria. He had succeeded! He had actually managed to fix this old piece of junk! Joy bubbled in his veins as he watched the apple. He’d managed advanced magic, had succeeded in submitting the temperamental thing to his will. He’d managed the impossible. Without help, no assistance, this was his own achievement.</p><p>It was relief. Progress in his plans. Something to pacify the Dark Lord if – when – he questioned Draco’s lack of progress with his mission. Something to stop his rage and disappointment. Something which could save Mother. Spare her his wrath. Or at least take the edge of his wrath. The Dark Lord was not forgiving.</p><p>It was dread. It meant that he was now obliged. That if he didn’t succeed to kill Professor Dumbledore himself, he would have to bring murderers, psychopaths, supremacists to Hogwarts, so they could finish the job he was unable to finish. He would endanger every single person in the castle. He would especially endanger Granger, and the students like her. Muggleborned. Truth be told, he cared little for the other students, but he didn’t want their death on his conscience, nor their blood on his hands. Neither the Muggleborned, the Halfbloods nor the Purebloods.</p><p>In the end dread won over. It settled in his stomach as a heavy stone, weighing him down. He knew it would remain there until the Dark Lord was defeated or Draco died.</p><p>And now he was late for his presentation with Granger.</p><p>–––</p><p>“Of course, Sir, I understand,” he said, trying his hardest to be polite, but failing somewhat, as his tone was a bit too harsh, a little bitter around the edges.</p><p>This was the fifth Ministry official – not to mention several potions masters and a handful of researchers – who had dismissed him. All of them had been polite while Slughorn had made the introductions, all had nodded and shook his hand and listening to Slughorn’s praise, even asking polite questions, but the second Slughorn had turned to leave, only just out of earshot, the Ministry official had said something about how he or she didn’t want to be associated with a Death Eater family, that it would hurt their reputation, and had even wiped their hand in their robes, like he was something dirty or slimy.</p><p>His pride was hurt.</p><p>It made him cringe, that once upon a time he’d treated Muggleborned the same way. He was ashamed of it now, but back then he hadn’t known any better, influenced by Father and the portraits of Malfoy Manor, spitting their poison.</p><p>He hadn’t seen Granger yet. He’d asked for her to wear something blue, not specifying, but hoping – counting on it even – she would wear something periwinkle which would make her skin glow.</p><p>Draco, not being able to match her completely, had opted for a cobalt blue tie. Matching, but not quite. No one would notice the similarity, the colours differing from one another slightly. Anyone would think it a coincidence, but Draco knew.</p><p>He glanced about the room again: it was filled to the rim; students, Ministry officials, prominent witches and wizards all mingling while servers (students dressed in matching white robes) offered refreshments. Enchanted snow – like the snow at the Yule Ball – fell from the ceiling. Music played, though there were no were no instruments to be seen. He found her in one of the corners with Lovegood and Scarface the Weasel’s sister holding hands, standing in profile. He’d recognised her hair, wild, unruly, riotous. She wore a dark blue dress, a shade or so lighter than midnight blue. It made her skin look like cream. It had a round neck, long sleeves which clung to her arms, and stopped at her knees, revealing her shapely legs. The bodice tight and the skirt airy. She was a vision. She was laughing at something and Draco turned away, forcing himself not to stare, not to draw attention to himself. He mingled with Zabini and Daphne Greengrass (both dressed to impress; Zabini in his expensive Italian robes, Daphne with her shining black hair in an elegant updo and a strapless, knee length moss green dress) and some Slytherins he didn’t know, though he didn’t participate in the conversations much, only nodding and humming in agreement once in a while.</p><p>The night dragged on; a drink here, an appetizer there. More conversations and introductions with Ministry officials who didn’t wish to talk to him. Slughorn’s voice bellowing from somewhere or other. Laughter, around him and from the dancefloor. And music; traditional and somewhat old-fashioned.</p><p>A familiar tune stated to play. In a different world, universe, he would be able to walk up to her and just ask her. He would be able to be her date, to touch her freely and without judgement. Without danger. But this wasn’t a different world. And he couldn’t do the things he wanted to do. Instead, he had to hope – though he was reluctant to admit so – someone else would ask her to dance, just so he could get his two turns with her…</p><p>McLaggen asked her to dance, offering her his hand with a poorly performed bow – he barely even bowed to her at all, only hunched his shoulders. Granger plastered on a tense smile and opened her pretty mouth – likely to refuse him if her stiff posture and tight lips were anything to go by – when she caught his eyes. Draco dipped his chin, and almost invisible movement, hoping she would understand his meaning – accept the dance. He could see the wheels in her brain starting to turn. McLaggen said something (Draco guessed) as her eyes snapped back into focus, looking at the oaf in front of her. A more genuine smile found its place and she accepted, and placed her hand in his. Both of them walked to the dancefloor, and Draco tried not to clench his hands as fucking McLaggen slipped his hand around Granger’s waist – a bit too close to her bum to Draco’s liking.</p><p>“Daphne, would you care for a dance?” The question earned him a glare from Zabini. Draco smirked back as Daphne accepted his offered arm and he led her to the dancefloor, stealing away Zabini’s date.</p><p>He started the dance, leading Daphne. He still knew the dance by heart, didn’t even have to concentrate as the music guided them. Out the corner of his eye he saw Granger and McLaggen and the smug expression plastered on his face as his hands rested on her hips.</p><p>He’d felt like this before; the anticipation, the fluttering of pixies in his abdomen. But this time she was his and he was aware of his feelings, acknowledged and embraced them. And she returned them.</p><p>Every step brought him closer, and closer still. One more step, one more twirl. Closer.</p><p>Another twirl and he was brought face to face with Granger.</p><p>And this time, this time she placed her hand against his without hesitating, without worry etched into her face by the little frown found between her eyes. No, this time, her face was open, her cheeks blushing for other reasons. And this time, Draco could savour the moment; feel the warmth of her skin against his, seeing the freckles and knowing he was indeed allowed to count them if he was so inclined. And just like the first time, the world ceased to exist, encasing them in a bubble. An illusion. Just for them.</p><p>First turn.</p><p>He drank in the vision of her. The dark blue colour which almost made her look pale, but made her freckles stand out. Her hair cascading down past her shoulders, held back by pins. Her thick lashes and caramel eyes and rosy lips. He breathed in her familiar scent.</p><p>Second turn.</p><p>“Our place,” he mouthed, not daring to speak the words aloud, somehow worrying it would shatter the illusion. She nodded with a barely even there dip of her chin.</p><p>She swirled away from him in flashes of blue and Draco found Daphne Greengrass again. He ended the dance, flashes of blue in the periphery of his vision. He had to hide those memories in the box, but for now he would enjoy them, all the while a periwinkle box rattled in the back of his mind, whispering of other, lighter coloured, flashes of blue.</p><p>Draco engaged in a few more dances with Daphne and some other Slytherin girl before he snuck out, and soon after he found himself in their room, waiting on the couch with a book in his lap.</p><p>“Did you have fun tonight?” she asked as she settled down besides him in flashes of blue. Her golden eyes regarded him as he pondered what to answer. He hadn’t had fun; no, he’d been humiliated by people who judged him by his Father’s sins. But if he said no, she would inquire as to why not, and could he even tell her the truth? Of course, she knew Father’s point of view. Everybody knew.</p><p>Finally, he settled on: “Yes,” the lie tasted sour in his mouth. “You seemed to enjoy yourself,” he said, thinking of the glimpses he’d seen of her with her friends, laughing and dancing, and pulled her closer. He was a selfish man and wanted her close to him. The scent of roses filling his nose, and she nestled into his side.</p><p>“I did. Though I got stuck with McLaggen for the majority of the evening as he latched onto me after our dance. Thanks a lot, by the way,” she huffed and crossed her arms in front of her chest, her annoyance clear even though he couldn’t see her face.</p><p>“Was it that bad?” he asked, unable to hide the amusement from his voice. It earned him a jab in the ribs with her pointy elbows. How could such a petite thing have such sharp elbows? She could weaponize them, should she so desire – and she did. Frequently. The only victim his ribs, and perhaps Potter’s and Weasel’s as well.</p><p>“After our dance he wouldn’t leave my side. He followed me around and kept interrupting Harry and Ginny, proclaiming how unfair the try-outs had been – and Harry was this close to explode,” Draco laughed at the mental image of a riled up Potter with red splotches on his face and everything, “and I got lectured on McLaggen’s one hundred greatest saves. It was horrible. I escaped when I left him under the mistletoe. Or I did for a while.”</p><p>“Meaning?”</p><p>“He got too handsy while we danced – I asked him to stop several times, but the idiot didn’t listen at all, and, just as I was leaving to meet you, he pulled me into an alcove in the corridor, and, well, he thought I was interested and tried to snog me.”</p><p>“He – what?” his brain struggled to form a coherent thought. He’d assaulted her, hadn’t he?</p><p>“Oh don’t worry about it, I took care of it,” she dismissed him with a wave of her hand, as if the whole ordeal hadn’t bothered her the slightest.</p><p>“What did you do?” Draco struggled to keep calm and his voice strained with his effort of keeping it controlled, and his muscles were tight. Admittingly, he wanted to find the bloke and hex him into oblivion, preferably something with a lasting effect – like the hex the Edgecombe girl had suffered (no one knew for sure who had done it, though rumours milled – some thought it was Chang, others thought it was Weaselette, though Draco had always suspected Granger).</p><p>“I hexed him. A stinging hex to get him off of me and – my personal favourite – a little hex to remind him of keeping his hands to himself. They’ll be swollen and sore for the next week or so.”</p><p>“You hexed him?” he glanced down at her, and, sensing his movement, she glanced up, her eyes glinting in the firelight.</p><p>“I did.”</p><p>“Brilliant,” he said and swooped down for a kiss. It didn’t take more than a second for the quick kiss to evolve into something more, something deeper. Something carnal. It was impossible to fight it, a hunger for each other which wouldn’t be sated by innocent kisses. I craved touch and skin against skin.</p><p>He pressed her back and down, almost lying on top of her, her arms around his neck and her fingers in her hair. His own hands shamelessly roamed her body, cupping her breast, holding her hips, and touching her legs as he let his hands glide from her knee to her high, pushing up her dress in the progress.</p><p>She’d managed to open up his shirt, her nails scraping over the planes of his chest, sending pleasant shivers down his spine and igniting a fire in him. He wanted so badly to give in; to be with her properly, but the fucking, damned mark on his arm, marring his skin, branding him as something he wasn’t, held him back and sobered him. Granger, however, wasn’t sobered, quite the opposite. Her hands tried to push away his shirt and managing to expose his shoulders and the air cooled down his overheated skin. He had to distract her. She couldn’t, not ever, see his shame.</p><p>But how to distract her? A suck on her sensitive spot just below her ear made her arch her back. He feared it was too late to stop now; they were in too deep already, but maybe he could provide her pleasure and forego his own? It would perhaps stop her desperate hands from trying to rid him of his clothes.</p><p>He needed a bed. Or a bigger couch. But mostly a bed. He felt the magic shift in the room, a light and warm ‘breeze’, and, managing to let go of her lips, glanced up from the couch and spotting a big four-poster bed standing in the corner of the room, the bedsheets the same blue as the couch.</p><p>
  <em>Merlin bless this room!</em>
</p><p>He picked her up, face buried in her neck surrounded by her rose scented hair, one arm around her midsection, one arm supporting her bum. She clung to him, legs winding around him, pressing her body against him. Not that he minded. His arm tightened around her midsection. Gingerly, he placed her on the bed, and she pulled him down to her before he could do anything else.</p><p>Draco pushed the dress up and it pooled around her hips, showing him her simple knickers. He pulled back and took a moment to remember this: dress around her hips, hair in a disarray around her head, hooded eyes, and kiss swollen lips. Reaching for her hands, he helped her to a seated position, only for him to unzip her dress and pull it off. Her dress had been lovely on her but looked even more lovely as it landed on the floor somewhere, Draco decided.</p><p>Her breasts were the most enticing thing he’d ever seen. Small – just a handful or so – round, and with dark nipples, which begged for his attentions. Once, he’d wondered if her freckles stretched beyond her nose and shoulders, had wondered if they spread to her breasts and stomach. And now he knew. She had a light smattering of freckles on her breasts and sternum, and a few freckles across her flat stomach, which was only marred by a scar which trailed from just under her breast and ended at her hip. It looked rather new as it was pink.</p><p>“How did you get this?” he asked while trailing the length of the scar with his finger, only the lightest of touch, while watching her face.</p><p>“Oh, Dolohov cursed me… uhm this summer. Back in the Ministry, where your…” she trailed off, biting down on her lip. He knew what she was going say though; where Father had been arrested because he’d attacked Granger and her friends. He trailed the scar again, swearing he would make Dolohov pay somehow, someday.</p><p>Draco shook the thoughts of retribution off of him and focused on the lovely witch, who was partly in a state of undress, beneath him, soft and pliant.</p><p>He found her lips, soft, plumb, and sweet, and then traced a line from her jaw to her clavicles to the swell of her breast, sucking and nibbling at her soft skin. He teased her; nearing her nipples only to find the swell again. He could spend hours, he decided, to map out her freckles. When he finally gave in and gave her nipple a gentle suck, he was rewarded with a throaty moan and her back arched, pushing her breasts closer to his face. Her other nipple he circled with his finger, flicking over it, and pinching it between in index and thumb.</p><p>The fire in his blood doubled in strength. Draco couldn’t stop this time; he was in too deep, the currents too strong, yet he couldn’t allow himself to float with it. No, he would let himself drown and make her float.</p><p>And fuck, why hadn’t he paid attention to what Pansy liked? Maybe Granger liked the same things as she did? But he hadn’t cared about Pansy’s pleasure, only chasing his own. He’d been a selfish lover, seeking only his own release. Not that he had ever wanted to go down on Pansy. Still. Why hadn’t he taken notice of how she found pleasure?</p><p>He felt horrible inexperienced as he pulled down her knickers – simple, dusty rose coloured – past her knees and eventually dropping the on the floor.</p><p>Nothing had prepared him for the vision of her, naked, in front of him, lying on a bed with her hair fanned out around her head like a halo.</p><p>She was divine, curls moist and flesh slick and glistening. He swallowed, wanting to make her fall apart but not knowing how to do so. Draco could feel his own heart beating against his ribs, could hear Granger’s breath. She shifted a tiny bit, but it was enough to spur him into action. Not knowing what to do he settled on the safe choice. He placed hot kisses on the inside of her thigh. As he drew nearer to her centre he felt her shiver. He stopped there, breathing hard. She whimpered. No, he wasn’t ready just yet, and so he placed kisses on her other thigh, once again building up the courage to taste her, worried he would be inadequate.</p><p>“Draco,” she panted, “please.”</p><p>Tentatively, he licked her, tasting her for the first time: he had never understood why anyone would do this, as it seemed unsanitary, but Merlin, he understood now why; she was intoxicating in her want, like a drug he could become addicted from. And it didn’t sound as the worst kind of addiction.</p><p>A broken moan escaped her lips, spurring him on. Another lick, more confident this time, long and wide. He didn’t know what he was doing. It was without rhythm, the breathless moans scarce, and it made him cringe. His jaw had started to ache. He swirled his tongue over a small nub and the reaction from Granger was immediate; a gasp, arched back, and fingers clutching the sheet. He mimicked the motion, tongue tracing the nub again, her hands found his hair, nails scraping against his scalp, as she wound her fingers in it, keeping him in place.</p><p>It dawned on him then, that this might be the key to make her fall apart.</p><p>He experimented; trying to figure out what she liked by the sound she made and the way she tugged at his hair.</p><p>Strokes and circles, sucking and licking, touching and rubbing.</p><p>Her broken voice whimpering <em>more </em>and <em>yes </em>and <em>please </em>and panting his name in an endless loop. Her hips ground against him, desperate, and he picked up the pace. A hard suck on her sensitive nub and she shattered in a million pieces, exclaiming his name breathlessly – and he thought that this was his favourite way for her to say his name – her body erupting in fluttering convulsions while her thighs pressed against his face, keeping him in place.</p><p>Granger went limbless, heaving for air, and Draco placed a kiss on her thigh. He pulled the covers up as he settled himself besides her. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks flushed, and her lips parted. His own erection pressed painfully against the fabric of his trousers. He watched her as her breathing settled back into normal, counting the freckles and drawing patterns with his eyes. She moved, turning to face him, a sated smile stretching her features. Turning to him fully, she reached for his shirt, and he guessed she wanted it removed, something he couldn’t allow. Snatching her hand in his, he kissed her knuckles. He could still taste her.</p><p>“Don’t you want to…?” she said, faltering at the end, and a pretty blush coloured her cheeks, showing her embarrassment for asking.</p><p>“No, I’m fine,” he said. Her brows furrowed.</p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p>“Yes,” he said, surprising himself at how true it actually was. He still had his needs, but he could wait. Regarding him for a few moments with pursed lips, she eventually accepted his explanation.</p><p>They stayed there as long as they could, just laying in the bed and talking about everything and nothing at all – meaningless but how Draco imagined normal couples would talk around each other. It was sense of ease and home and acceptance.</p><p>Later, while his dormmates slept, he took himself in hand, recalling her body underneath his, the sounds she made, the taste of her. The build up was quick, already riled up from earlier. It took little time to push him over the edge, Granger on his mind’s eye, and white-hot pleasure shot through his body, stars dancing in his field of vision. His breath was laboured as his heartbeat slowed down. Exhaustion pulled at him and soon he gave in to sleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And finally the smut came along (also a first – I really hope it wasn’t too cringy). </p><p> </p><p>Happy holidays!<br/>Stay safe – much love from Denmark.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter 21</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Happy New Year guys! Hope you’re all safe.</p><p> </p><p>I’d hoped to update between Christmas and New Year’s, but life has a habit of getting hectic. <br/>Short update from my life: my clinical trial (or perhaps the correct word is internship?) has ended – I passed my exam, and I’ll soon be starting on my bachelor. I’ll still try to have an update ready once a month – I can’t believe how quickly time has passed.  </p><p> </p><p>Thank you so much for your lovely comments. They make me so very happy. And thank you for sticking with this story even though the update schedule is so long. </p><p> </p><p>I hope you’ll enjoy this latest instalment.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Hermione </strong>
</p><p>Hermione awoke earlier than the crack of dawn; she’d always been an early riser, something unusual among her peers – especially in Gryffindor, the House was renowned for sleeping in. Exam preparations demanded it to be so, and twice every year she would arise earlier than per usual, which meant a few more hours of the day with productive studying. She was simply unable to sleep any longer whenever exams drew near.</p><p>Swinging her legs over the bed, she yawned, rubbed her eyes. Her hair, she could feel, were a frightful mess, and, combing through it with her fingers, confirmed its messy state. Sighing heavily; it would be impossible to tame with a brush, even spells had proved ineffective against her hair, defying magic and gravity.</p><p>A shower, quick and cold, helped her manage her hair somewhat; it would never be as perfect as Ginny’s beautiful red locks, but calmed enough as to not make her look like a pair of doxys had used her hair as a nest. With a hairband around her wrist, she decided she would pile her hair into a bun once it’d dried.</p><p>The Great Hall was empty and so Hermione ate in silence with her back to the wall, the only company the silent ghosts floating around, chatting quietly amongst themselves, their voices just a little louder than the crackling fireplaces. Even when she was the only person there, she couldn’t bring herself to have her back exposed to the Great Hall, the thought alone made her feel uneasy. She grabbed some toast and an apple to bring to the library as lunch, already knowing she would probably skip lunch in order to get as much reading done as possible.</p><p>Madam Pince greeted her with a stiff nod; the woman disliked every student, though some more than others and Hermione like to believe, that the strict librarian had a soft spot for her, as Hermione had always loved and cherished the books.</p><p>Rounding corners and walking down the aisles of shelves (grabbing useful books on her way) beating Draco once again to their favourite spot. It was still too early for the sun to have risen, as it was in the middle of December, but she could see the horizon lighten; a shade lighter than the rest of the dark sky which showed not a single star – she couldn’t even tell where the moon was, the cover of clouds being too thick. She sat, back turned to the window and the view she’d always loved, front facing the other, less attractive, table, and began her reading.</p><p>He announced his arrival as per usual; stool scraping loudly, books placed on the table with loud bangs. Every single action meant to be as noisy as humanly possible without an amplifying spell cast on the stool, books, table, shoes. Once, their ritual had annoyed her, had found it – him – obnoxious, but now, it served as a loud but somewhat gentle reminder of his presence. Hermione glanced at her wristwatch; eight o’clock, she’d been studying for almost two hours. Glancing up from her book, she observed him as he flipped open a book of his own, unrolling some parchment and dipped his quill in the inkpot. His eyes found hers; and they held eye contact for a moment which seemed to stretch.</p><p>Her breathing quickened and her mouth felt dry. Somehow, this moment was so intimate to her; alone in the library (save Madam Pince), holding eye contact, memories of their shared Friday evening flashing in her brain. The space separating them magically disappearing; they drew nearer and nearer, like magnets pulling at each other, closer and closer, until there was no distance between them at all. The air was charged with something she couldn’t name, making the small hair on her arms and in the back of her neck stand on end and sending pleasant shivers down her spine and making her stomach flutter. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips and the motion was followed by his grey eyes; breaking eye contact as his eyes was now focused on her lips.</p><p>Without noticing it, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth, his eyes finding hers again, parting his lips as to say something, a word almost formed on his perfect lips –</p><p>“It’s Sunday, why do we have to start studying this early?” a male voice whined loudly. “No one’s here. I told you it was unnatural to be up this early on a weekend.”</p><p>“Shut up. I need to pass or Mum’s gonna kill me. And so do you, by the way,” another male voice with a Scottish accent said. There were some indiscernible grumbling.</p><p>“Fine, but I don’t wanna be stuck here all day,” the first voice said, although he sounded reluctant to admit he might need to study as well.</p><p>“I hope we’ll call it a day around lunch,” the second voice said.</p><p>“Hope? You – you hope? Oh no, Anthony, we’ll be –” a loud shushing interrupted the boy speaking, Madam Pince having none of their loud conversation.</p><p>She heard steps, heavy sighs, books being pulled from the shelves. Their arrival broke the magic between her and Draco, distance between the two table sets reappearing, and she used the distraction to bend over her books once again.</p><p>She didn’t glance at him again; she heard the library slowly fill up, more voices and steps would carry, but none found their hidden place: it was simply too deep inside the library. She was lost in a world of her own, only feeling his eyes linger on her a couple of times as it made her skin tingle pleasantly.</p><p>At some point Draco left; announced by a soft sigh, books slammed shut and a scraping stool followed by his long strides. She noticed the soft light which hit the table and made her able to see the grains in the wood and all the scratches countless of quills had made over the years, tracing some with her finger. Judging solely by the light, Hermione guessed it was around mid-day. The sun must have burned through the clouds. She allowed herself five minutes, five minutes where she turned around and absorbed the pale winter sun with closed eyes, letting the rays warm up her skin. And the resumed her reading.</p><p>Several minutes – or maybe it was even hours, she always had trouble keeping track of time whenever she studied – passed and he returned, once again trying to be as loud as possible, only making her roll her eyes at him fondly, hidden away from his gaze by the curtain her hair made, completely obscuring the view to her face. He said nothing, didn’t seek er out, but, she was certain should she raise her eyes he would sit facing her again.</p><p>They read in silence, the only noises filtering through the air were distant: somewhere a stool scraped against the floor, small sighs, books being dropped on wooden tables,  indiscernible muttering, pages turned, but still no one entered their sanctuary; it was placed too deeply within the library’s shelves, too far away from the entrance and the books commonly used for assignments and exam preparations, the only books found this deep in the library were the older, more obscure books only Hermione – and Draco – used as reference. She didn’t feel his eyes linger on her again.</p><p>When he’d left again Hermione finally tore her eyes from the pages. The light no longer filtered in through the window: either it was late afternoon or early evening, she couldn’t be sure without checking her wristwatch. A glance at her watch told her it was time for diner to be served in the Great Hall. She wasn’t hungry, she still had loads of books to read, and she missed the liberty to speak to Draco freely. Mind made up she gathered her things. She scribbled down a note and enchanted it to not only reveal itself to him only, but to appear in front of him when he was in close proximity of the note. It was risky, she knew, as she’d never tried to use these particular charms before, but, she concluded, no one would be able to track the note down to her or him, as the note only stated her desire to study with him at their place mentioning neither of their names. A message only he would understand.</p><p>As she stood and stretched her arms over her head, her back cracked; vertebrae popping as she stretched after being hunched over a table for several hours. The library was now empty – or at least she didn’t encounter anyone; everyone was probably in the Great Hall eating their dinner.</p><p>Hermione climbed the stairs, taking numerous hidden passages in order to cover her tracks, and found herself on the seventh floor. Soon after Hermione settled into a chair and placed her books on the table, continuing her previous work, already engrossed.</p><p>Halfway through her book a loud bang made her jump in her stool and a high pitched shriek tore from her throat, her pulse already quickened along with her breathing, and eyes scanning the room. It didn’t take long for her to spot Draco, who had just ‘placed’ (or rather dropped) his book on the table. He’d managed to enter their room without her hearing him enter or approach.</p><p>“Bloody Hell, Draco! You gave me a fright!” Hermione rarely swore, but the words just poured out of her, and she couldn’t help but scowl at him, while she tried to control her breathing.</p><p>“Sorry, I thought you heard me come in,” he said and placed a kiss on her hair.</p><p>“Clearly, I didn’t,” she said, still struggling with her rapidly beating heart.</p><p>“Clearly,” he said, not quite able to keep the smirk off his face. He sat beside her and they read in silence. “Have you eaten today, Granger?” he asked suddenly catching her off guard.</p><p>“I – what?”</p><p>“Eating. Have you done that today?” She opened her mouth to tell him that indeed she had eaten today, she’d brought food into the library for lunch, the words resting on the tip of her tongue, when her mouth closed, thinking hard if she’d eaten anything between now and breakfast. Her mind went blank and she couldn’t remember if she’d eaten her lunch or if it still laid in her bag. She knew for certain she hadn’t had any dinner. <em>What time’s it even? </em>Draco’s face changed at her lack of response, he pressed his lips together in a tight line and narrowed his eyes at her, while he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Or did you survive on the excellent nutrition the books provide?” he said with sarcasm dripping from the words and rolled his eyes in the most exasperated fashion. Hermione pursed her lips.</p><p>“I had breakfast.”</p><p>“Breakfast? Are you serious? It’s been over thirteen hours since your last meal.”</p><p>“I forgot?” It came out as a question, unintended, as it wasn’t a question, but an answer and she didn’t like what it might imply. He blinked as he processed the information she’d just given.</p><p>“You forgot?”</p><p>“I – yes.”</p><p>“You know, most people need food in order to survive,” he eyed her again and pursed his lips. “Is this a habit of yours?” Hermione didn’t respond but scowled at him instead. “Merlin, Granger! How have you survived up until this point?”</p><p>Hermione bit the inside of her cheek. Previous years, Ron had always been forcing her to take breaks and making sure she ate something during the day. But Ron hadn’t spoken to her in weeks, not since she literally broke his heart by telling him she didn’t love him anymore. He’d been avoiding her ever since, neither speaking nor looking at her, to Harry’s distress. He felt caught in the middle of this, trying to see the both of them equally. However, Hermione didn’t think bringing up Ron and the way he’d taken care of her to be the wisest idea, considering the lack of warm feelings between Draco and Ron.</p><p>“By the excellent nutrition the books provide.”</p><p>“Haha, very funny. You must have been starving,” he rolled his eyes again, obviously not finding her reply amusing at all. “But seriously though, how did you manage?”</p><p>Hermione sighed. She might as well be honest and getting it over with; Draco knew of her friendship with Ron, it wasn’t a Ministry secret.</p><p>“Ron brought me food and made sure I ate it.”</p><p>The effect was immediate: Draco stiffened at the mention of her redheaded friend, lips pressed into a line so thin they disappeared. He breathed in deeply, held it for a moment, and then released it slowly.</p><p>“At least someone made sure, you ate,” he said with a pained expression: muscles tight and jaw barely moving, only for him to make a face as the last word escaped his lips. It was probably the closest he would ever come to praising Ron. “Are you hungry, Granger?”</p><p>“No, I’m not,” and at that moment her stomach decided to prove her wrong and grumbled loudly. Heat crept up in her cheeks. Her stomach however, decided to continue the humiliation as it tried very hard to imitate the sound of a whale. Or a pod of them.</p><p>“Bloody Hell, Granger. Not hungry?” He got up, and while grumbling under his breath he left the room in long strides. Hermione could only stare at his retreating back, and then the door, blinking as she tried to understand what had just happened. Several minutes later the door opened again, and Draco walked in with a tray with a lid – similar to those seen in hold movies whenever someone ordered room service – in his hands, still grumbling under his breath. “… all the way down to the kitchens. ‘Not hungry’ she says and then proceeds to sound like a dying animal. Bloody, lovely bookworm forgot to eat. How do you forget to eat?” He pushed her book aside, shushing her as she tried to protest, and placed the tray in front of her.</p><p>Even with the lid still covering the contents, the divine scents from the food wafted in her nose and made her mouth water.  He lifted the lid, and a small feast was presented to her: chicken with baked potatoes, gravy and a salad. He’d even brought her a goblet of pumpkin juice.</p><p>“Thank you,” she said, not quite managing to meet his eyes, still too embarrassed from earlier.</p><p>“Just eat some food,” he dismissed her gratitude, though he did kiss her cheek before he seated himself again.</p><p>And she did.</p><p>–––</p><p>Hermione had never experienced an orgasm like that: her nerves fluttering with pleasure, muscles convulsing as the pleasure crashed over her in waves. She was been sure her heartbeat would never normalize again, pounding away while she tried desperately to catch her breath, completely boneless as she melted into the madras, a boneless heap.</p><p>Draco had made it into a habit of making sure she would take a break from her studying during the day. His methods to ensure these breaks were unconventional, not that she minded.</p><p>They would meet up in the Room of Requirements in the early evening, usually after dinner had ended, giving them a couple of hours in each others presence. Hermione would be in the library from the end of the school day until she was to meet up with Draco, forgetting everything else. Sometimes Harry would join her in the library when he wasn’t busy with other matters and leave when dinner was served, but more often than not, she would study alone.</p><p>The first thing Draco would do, was to present her with some food; he’d apparently taken it upon himself to make sure she would eat. Once she’d finished the last bite they would read in silence. At some point he would pluck the book from her fingers and silence her protests with heated kisses which always ended in her being sprawled on the bed, panting hard and feeling sated, getting her to the edge faster and faster, remembering what she responded to the best.</p><p>No, she didn’t mind this new habit of his at all.</p><p>She wanted to make him feel as good as he made her feel.</p><p>But, whenever she tried to do something for him, he always told her how she didn’t need to do anything for him, how he was fine. It was grating on her nerves, and she didn’t understand why he didn’t want her to do something for him.</p><p>Didn’t he want her?</p><p>But not this time. This time she wouldn’t let him deter her. She wanted to, had wanted to since the first time.</p><p>Before he even had the chance to lay beside her, she sat. With fumbling hands, she tried to unzip his trousers, her breathing fast and shallow. His pale hand stopped hers.</p><p>She glanced up at him through her lashes and met his gaze, his eyes were liquid silver, effectively trapping her in that moment as she was unable to tear her eyes from his.</p><p>“You don’t have to,” he whispered in a hoarse voice.</p><p>“I want to,” she whispered back. He still didn’t let go of her hands. “Please Draco, I want to do it.”</p><p>He looked indecisive, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. He bit his lip, something she’d never seen him do before. Draco Malfoy never displayed such actions of uncertainty. The action, she found, was endearing.</p><p>One of his hands caressed her cheek, tracing the outline of her lips. Resolve replaced the uncertainty. Hermione held her breath, waiting for him to react, to give permission or to refuse. A nod and a swallow; his Adam’s apple bopping in his throat.</p><p>He hesitated a second, and then let go of her hands.</p><p>Wasting no time, she unzipped and unbuttoned his trouser, yanking them down and pulling his boxers down in the same motion.</p><p>It sprang free, already hard.</p><p>She’d never seen one before, and had, therefore, no means to compare seizes, but she guessed he was in the larger category. She could smell his skin, the forresty smell mixed with leather and soap, and something different: a faint scent of something musky.</p><p>A clear liquid oozed from the tip of his member.</p><p>Intellectually, she knew it was a sensitive part, much like herself, and needed stimuli in order to find pleasure. Experience, however, couldn’t come to her aid. She was in new and unknown territory, and no amount of reading could’ve ever prepared her for this moment.</p><p>A mix of nerves and curiosity as she wondered how to do this. How was she to do this? How hard should her grip be?</p><p>Ever so careful she wrapped her fingers around the shaft, barely even holding onto it; Draco holding his breath. Her teeth found her bottom lip, and Hermione gazed up at him. He was already looking at her, his eyes were intense, pupils dilated and only a thin ring of silver surrounded his pupils.</p><p>The intensity of his gaze had made her mouth dry, and her tongue darted out to wet her lips, his eyes following the movement with a hungry glint in them. He seemed to be ready to devour her.</p><p>“You have to tell me what you like,” she whispered. He nodded. Tearing her eyes from his, she eyed his cock again. Tentatively she pumped it. He sucked in a sharp breath of air and the hand which had never left her face, wound itself in her hair at the back of her neck.</p><p>Her grip tightened just a notch and pumped again. This time a soft moan escaped his lips and his fingers tightened in her hair. Encouraged by this reaction she increased the speed of her pumps.</p><p>Strangled moans spilled from him.</p><p>“Tighten your grip – yes!”</p><p>He was panting hard, gripping her hair tightly. The other hand gripped hers, adjusting her grip a little: a bit more pressure, showing her what he liked.</p><p>Accidently her thumb flicked over the head of his cock, spreading the liquid there.</p><p>“Granger, fuck –” she repeated the motion which made him stop mid-sentence.</p><p>She increased her pace.</p><p>Suddenly he pushed her into the madras, losing her grip on him in the process, hovering over her with the support of a single hand, locking his lips with hers, kissing her with a fever. His other hand was between them. Seconds later, she felt him tense, a deep moan breaking free, muscles trembling and something wet landed on her stomach as he came undone. He collapsed, taking great care of not landing on her, his breath laboured. His eyes were closed, and he had a peaceful expression on his face, every muscle were relaxed. Fascinated, she took in this peaceful man beside her as his breathing normalized.</p><p>Once it had slowed, her opened her eyes, scooted closer to her and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek, and then muttering a Scourgify under his breath. She felt how the liquid, his cum, vanished.</p><p>“Should’ve let you do that the first time,” he almost sighed into her shoulder.</p><p>“Yeah, you should.”</p><p>____</p><p>The Transfiguration exam was divided into two: a theoretical part and a practical part. It reminded her of her O.W.L.’s, though this Hermione expected to be at a higher level and therefore more difficult. Hermione was seated in the back of the room, surrounded by Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. Ron was to her direct right, while Harry was at her left, a table ahead of her. In the front of the class, almost directly in front of McGonagall’s desk, sat Draco, his silver hair giving him away. Draco had already been seated when Hermione had entered the classroom with Harry and Ron. Parchment and quill had already been laid out on the desks.</p><p>Amidst the questions were trick questions, designed to make her doubt her answers and the laws of transfiguration. Hermione had scribbled away as if her life had depended on it. Hermione tugged at a strand of her hair while she contemplated her answer to a question. Time flew by too fast, and suddenly she only had five minutes left. Oh, but this answer could be elaborated. And this too. And this as well, and this one, and that one…</p><p>“Time’s up,” McGonagall declared, and the quills vanished. “Please remain seated while I collect your answers.” McGonagall flicked her wand and the parchment levitated towards her, stacking themselves in a neat pile on her desk. As the last parchment settled, the sound of wood scraping against stone could be heard as the students got up.</p><p>All students left the classroom and took place outside the classroom in the corridor. One after another they would enter the transfiguration classroom to be evaluated. While Hermione awaited her turn with the other students, she heard quiet chatter. The students talked about the questions, what they had answered and what other had answered, debating amongst themselves as to the correct answer.</p><p>“No, I’m sure that’s incorrect,” a Hufflepuff girl, whose name Hermione had forgotten, said.</p><p>“How so?” A Ravenclaw boy answered. Another name Hermione had forgotten.</p><p>“Well, according to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration one cannot create something from nothing, thus making it impossible to conjure something if something isn’t already there to transform it from,” the Hufflepuff stated with confidence.</p><p>“Aren’t you forgetting about the exceptions? For example, you cannot mend broken bones even though they are already there, for that you would need Skele-Gro. Or even potion ingredients. If you used magic on those to alter or even speed up the process, you would ruin the potion,” the Ravenclaw answered. The Hufflepuff was about to say something, when she visibly paled, her mouth hanging loose giving the impression of a fish.</p><p>“Oh no! How could I forget? It’s basic knowledge!” the Hufflepuff looked devastated and Hermione sympathized with her. Hermione knew that feeling from last years O.W.L.’s in Ancient Runes where she had mistaken Ehwaz for Eihwaz. Hermione had felt horrible after she had realised her mistake, and now she ran her own answers through in her head. Had she made a mistake like the Hufflepuff girl?</p><p>Professor McGonagall looked magnificent in her dark blue and black robes. The robes appeared to be a two-piece set; a black dress with turtleneck and long sleeves, and dark blue ‘coat’ of sorts with wide sleeves. A belt combined the outfit at her waist. At her neck were a piece of jewellery, a wide choker made of black fabric with a dark blue gemstone. McGonagall’s black her was pulled back into a tight bun as per usual. Her glasses was on the middle of her straight nose. She looked as stern as ever as the Professor regarded Hermione over the rim of her glasses. Hermione swallowed thickly, commanding herself to breathe. Her wand was ready in her hand, the vine wood warm and humming, ready to do her commands.</p><p>They hadn’t planned on meeting today, so Hermione walked the castle and the grounds. She walked past the library, but today she couldn’t get herself to enter the sanctuary. Hermione needed to unwind her brain from the overload of information, and thus she walked with no real purpose. Hermione let her legs carry her without really noticing her surroundings. She found herself in an abandoned corridor somewhere on the fifth floor. Hermione recognised his silhouette because of his platinum blond hair, which seemed to light up the poorly lit corridor like a beacon as if light actually emanated from his silver hair. His long, elegant, and confident strides was another tell-tale that it was Draco who approached her. He carried something as well, though she couldn’t see what he carried. As they neared each other, Hermione could – not see per say, but sense – that he planned something. He shouldered her (surprising her as she hadn’t been prepared for this) and Hermione yelped, making both of them drop the things which they carried with them – he’d carried a book as well.</p><p>“Watch it, Granger,” he said in an arrogant tone while his eyes apologised for the rough handling.</p><p>“Sod off, Malfoy,” she sniffed and crouched down to pick up her things. He crouched down as well. As they both picked up their things, they were so close to each other that Hermione could feel the ghost of his breath on her skin.</p><p>“Room of Requirements, five minutes,” he whispered, almost inaudibly. Hermione’s heart fluttered in her chest. She felt his eyes on her, and she gave a discreet nod, not glancing in his direction. Hermione felt his finger brush against her arm, a gentle touch, barely even there. He stood up elegantly and shot her a heated glare – very much free for interpretation depending on who watched. Hermione gathered her things and left the corridor. Through shortcuts she made her way to the seventh floor. She paced in front of the wall, thinking of their place and the familiar door materialized.</p><p>She slipped through the door and found Draco lounging in the couch in front of the crackling fireplace, nose deep into a book. He’d shed his outer robes and tie, which was thrown over the back of the plush armchair nearest the entrance, only wearing the black trousers and button up white shirt. The yellow-red hue gave him a warm glow instead of the silver, cold glow he usually had. His platinum hair seemed to be yellow-blond in the light from the fireplace. He was beautiful and seemed at peace. Hermione shed her outer robes as well, discarding her robes where his were. As she turned towards him, he was regarding her over the top of the pages, silver eyes following her every movement. Hermione smiled at him and approached him.</p><p>“You’re late,” he accused and flipped a page, though his eyes were trained on her. His whole nature screamed arrogant, rich kid. <em>Pompous git</em>.</p><p>“A witch is never late, she arrives precisely when she means to,” she answered in a haughty voice and sat down beside him, nestling into his side while glancing up at him through her lashes, drinking in his profile with his straight nose. She couldn’t help but quote Tolkien, although changed it a little to better suit the situation. Hermione snickered at his confused facial expression.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Muggle literature,” she explained with a shrug and a smile.</p><p>“Oh.” He still looked quite puzzled, and Hermione knew that her explanation was inadequate. Deciding to hold him in the dark she didn’t elaborate.</p><p>“What are you reading?” she asked and stretched her neck, trying to read whatever it was he held in his hands.</p><p>“Oh, nothing interesting, really.”</p><p>“Really? Then you wouldn’t mind if I read it?” and despite his Seeker reflexes Hermione managed to snatch the book from him.</p><p>“What are you – hey!” he laughed, reaching for the book, but she just moved it further out of his reach.</p><p>His eyes danced with mirth, and her heart swelled in her chest. They laughed together.</p><p>It was so effortless with Draco, she didn’t try to please him, she was just Hermione. She felt happiness bubble inside her, coursing through her veins and make her lightheaded.</p><p>He made another attempt at reaching the book, and yet again she held the book out of his reach, forcing him to lean over her while stretching his arm in order to reach it, his sleeve crawling up his arm a bit, exposing his skin on his under arm.</p><p>And then she saw something peeking out from under the sleeve: something black worming on his skin. It was just a quick movement, but Hermione saw it nonetheless. The laughter died; strangled to death in her throat, making her mouth go dry and her spit thick, impossible to swallow. Hermione stiffened, every muscle in her body freezing over like she had been hit with a body-bind spell; eyes fixed on his left arm. All mirth had left her, the bubbles of happiness bursting.</p><p>Draco stiffened as well. <em>No, no. How can this be? It can’t be real, he can’t be a Death Eater. No, no, no. </em>He retracted his arm, hiding it from her view and tugging at his sleeve in the same motion, trying not to be conspicuous. She saw, nonetheless.</p><p>“What’s that?” she asked in a shaky voice which made her cringe inwardly. She’d wanted her voice to be strong and it betrayed her. Betrayed the way her heart had seemed to stop, how her blood had run cold.</p><p><em>Please, please let it be nothing. Let it be a trick of the light. </em>Though she knew</p><p>“Nothing.” His jaw was clenched, and suddenly it hit her: he lied to her, and if she hadn’t seen the black which contrasted to his marble skin, she would probably believe his lie. He lied effortless, the only tell-tale was the way his jaw clenched for half a second, and she had only just realised it. How many times had he lied to her before?</p><p>She had to know.</p><p>“Draco Lucius Malfoy you will show me this second, or I swear Marietta Edgecombe will count her blessings!” she couldn’t control the way her voice pitched higher, making it sound like a strangled scream even to her own ears. But Hermione couldn’t care right now. She couldn’t care as her blood rushed through her ears like an angry river with strong currents and her heart hammered away in a frantic and painful rhythm while her lungs refused to take in air.</p><p>Hermione watched as he hesitated and then, with a pained expression, he rolled up the sleeve.</p><p>The skin on his arm was as pale as the rest of him. The skin looked perfect with no blemishes or imperfections. It looked smooth, like marble. And there, branded into the marble skin was the black ink, forming a skull and snake, alive and wriggling on his skin.</p><p>It was a punch to her stomach, knocking the air out of her. She felt her emotions like a whirlwind: anger, sadness, hurt, resentment, disgust. And in the midst of it all were the feeling of betrayal, clawing at her chest and exposing her heart, only to shred it to pieces. She stood up abruptly, surprising even herself at how quickly her muscles reacted to her command.</p><p>
  <em>No. How could he? How could I? Has he played me for a fool this entire time? Harry was right all along. How could I be this stupid?</em>
</p><p>His eyes were regarding her, pale and full of an unidentifiable emotion. Those pretty eyes, and the pretty lies he had spun around her. He didn’t move, awaited her further response.</p><p>Tears of anger and betrayal stung her eyes, one blink and they would overflow and escape, but Hermione refused to let them make their escape down her cheeks. She clenched her teeth in the effort of not crying, trying to hold them back with sheer willpower alone. The betrayal felt like acid dripping into her veins; it burned with each heartbeat, spreading the acid through her veins. It was hard to breathe as it felt like someone had stolen the air from her lungs.</p><p>And it was in the face of his betrayal that she realised that she loved him. Her heart skipped a beat and Hermione let the tears escape their confinements.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ah, it had to come didn’t it? As many of you’ve pointed out, Draco couldn’t possibly keep the Mark a secret forever. This ‘scene’ was actually what started inspiring me to write this fic (fun fact).</p><p> </p><p>Okay, I know the line isn’t in the Lord of the Rings book, but I really just love this line from the film, and in my universe, Gandalf said that in the books as well :)</p><p> </p><p>Please continue leaving comments, I really love receiving them, and although I don’t always answer them, please know that I read them and appreciate each and every one of them! </p><p> </p><p>Much love</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Chapter 22</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So… I managed to write another chapter in a week. I can’t remember the last time this happened. </p><p>As always, thank you for reading. I hope you’ll continue to enjoy this story.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Draco</strong>
</p><p>He had stiffened the second he felt her stiffen underneath him. He glanced at her, her eyes trained on his left arm, the arm which he’d used to reach for the book. He followed her gaze and saw what she saw: the head of the snake peeking out from his sleeve, wriggling on his skin. Her gaze burned his skin.</p><p>He yanked his arm back, sitting up straight in the couch, trying to cover the disgusting thing from her view. All colour had left her face and she was white as a sheet, eyes wide as saucers with a fixed gaze, emotions too quickly passing through for him to tell them apart, and her lower lip trembled.</p><p>“What’s that?” Her voice shook and held no power. But he knew the witch in front of him could tear him to pieces easily if she was so inclined. If he confessed, he was a dead man, if he lied and she discovered the truth he would be a dead man. No matter what he did, he was doomed. Doomed by Dumbledore or doomed by Lord Voldemort. Draco swallowed; his mouth had gone dry.</p><p>His heartbeat slowed down, a knot formed in his stomach. She wasn’t supposed to find out. <em>But she would know, eventually, when I killed Dumbledore. </em>But she wasn’t meant to find out now, he was supposed to have at least six months. He’d meant to keep her in the dark for as long as possible.</p><p>He’d known the second he indulged and walked into this relationship, that he would have to say goodbye at some point, that they couldn’t stay together, but this was too soon.</p><p>“Nothing,” he lied. She couldn’t see. He could only – foolishly, he knew – hope she would let it go.</p><p>“Draco Lucius Malfoy you will show me this second, or I swear Marietta Edgecomb will count her blessings!” she roared. Draco gulped. Edgecomb had been hexed by someone – Granger, he should have known since neither the pink monstrosity nor Madam Pomfrey had been able to help the girl – and it had left her disfigured for life. Draco could already feel her magic raising, the air around her felt electric, making the hair on his neck stand on end.</p><p>He couldn’t show her, she would hate him, despise him, be disgusted by him. He couldn’t not show her either, she would be suspicious, furious and take matter in her own hands. Which, he supposed, would be even worse. If he showed her of his own volitation, she would listen to him, right? She’d always been a kind and forgiving creature, always someone who would know every side of a dilemma before making her conclusion. Surely, she would listen and not jump to conclusions, right?</p><p>The few seconds of hesitation only served in making Granger look more furious, before he slowly undid the buttons and rolled up his sleeve in order for her to see, mentally preparing himself for the inevitable. The moment her eyes landed on the disgusting mark, she paled and shot up from the couch, the book in her hand falling to the ground with a soft thud, breaking the silence and making the soft noise seem like a shout, piercing his eardrums.</p><p>He regarded her, saw the emotions flicker over her face in rapid succession. He saw every emotion as if they were written across her forehead: the anger; for lying or perhaps hiding things from her, the sadness; for something which was lost, the disgust; for what the Mark implied, for what it meant. He watched as emotion after emotion settled over her delicate features, until her eyes became wet from unshed tears.</p><p>He should tell her now, while she didn’t move, but his lips were glued together, refusing to open and let the words pour from him. His whole body was frozen to the spot, his pulse hammering in his ears.</p><p>He could tell how she struggled not to let the tears fall, her jaw taut, lips pressed together and a frown on her forehead.</p><p>Her body made a small, almost indiscernible jump, and the tears broke free and a heart wrenching sob tore its way from her throat.</p><p>The sound thawed his muscles and he got up, taking a step towards her, wanting so badly to take away the obvious hurt, and she backed away quickly, like he was venomous. Should he have explained before showing her? Or started to explain while rolling up his sleeve? Would it have made a difference?</p><p>“You – you – no, you –” she sounded bewildered, not knowing which strain of thought to follow.</p><p>A red flush spread on her cheeks and neck, lips once again pressed into a thin line, her hands clenched into small fist at her side. Her eyes were ablaze with hot fury, wildfire, glistening with the tears forming there, but they still regarded him coldly, while the fat tears rolled down her cheeks freely. Draco could feel her angry magic crackling around her viciously. Granger’s hair was floating around her, like she was submerged in water.</p><p>“Granger –” he reached for her again.</p><p>“No.” She stepped back.</p><p>“Granger, please listen to –”</p><p>“No! Stay away from me!” She screamed at him, magic slashing in the air violently, warning him to stay away. Granger took another step back as he took a step forward. She would let him explain himself, wouldn’t she?</p><p>“Let me explain, it’s not –”</p><p>“It’s not what it seems? It’s exactly what it seems! You’re a Death Eater!” she wiped the tears away with her sleeve in jerks. A step nearer.</p><p>“I – you don’t understand.” Another step towards her.</p><p>Though her magic slashed at him, making each second in her presence painful he kept walking towards her. She had to understand. It wasn’t what it seemed, if she would only listen to him. if she would just allow him to explain, she would understand that he hadn’t had a choice, that he didn’t want the disgusting Mark on his body. He needed her to understand. She had to listen… she had to… He couldn’t lose her. Draco grabbed her hand, wanting, no <em>needing, </em>her to understand –</p><p>“Don’t touch me!” The scream was shrill and echoed in the room. She fought him, trying to fight her way out of his grab, clawing at him with hands and magic alike. An unseen force hit him in the chest, sending him flying backwards a few metres. He landed on his back with a grunt of pain, the wind knocked out of him. He hadn’t heard an incantation, nor had she been holding her wand. Had she used nonverbal <em>and </em>wandless magic this powerful? He sat up, catching his breath again while rubbing his throbbing back and wincing in pain as the motion was painful. Slowly he got up, making an effort not to provoke another powerful shove from her magic.</p><p>“Merlin, Granger –”</p><p>“Shut up! I don’t want to hear a single word from you!” She yelled with a force he hadn’t witnessed before. “I trusted you! And you –” she paused, swallowing, and continued in a hush whisper, barely even audible, “you cursed Katie. Who else could it be?”</p><p>“If you’ll just let me explain, you’ll see –”</p><p>“See what? That you played me?”</p><p>“No, I –”</p><p>“You tricked me! Did you manage to get the information, you wanted?” Another angry slash of her magic crackling in the air. “Or did you not succeed in getting close enough to kill Harry?”</p><p>“No, Granger, I would never –”</p><p>“Or did you have a good laugh with your friends?”</p><p>“Salazar’s grave, would you please shut up and let me explain!” she flinched from his sudden outburst. The last the final straw. He couldn’t take another accusation from her; they hurt too much.</p><p>“Why should I? You’ve done nothing but lie to me from the very beginning!”</p><p>“You think I wanted this? You think I <em>wanted </em>to be branded by something so vile?!” he was shouting now, angered by her cruel accusations, desperate for her to listen. “You think I’m like <em>them?”</em></p><p>“You bear their Mark,” she spat. “It certainly looks like you wanted it.”</p><p>“I didn’t want it!”</p><p>“Liar! You’ve hated people like me your whole life! We are nothing but Mudbloods to you!” He flinched at her use of the damned word. How many times had he called her a Mudblood? How he regretted it know, regretted how he’d been spreading the hatred with the ugly word.</p><p>“I didn’t want this. I haven’t wanted this since our third year. I changed. He forced me, threatened to kill my family,” he could hear the pleading tone in his voice, something he would usually dislike. Draco didn’t like to beg nor come off as weak. But he didn’t care, because he needed her to understand.</p><p>“I don’t believe a word you just said.”</p><p>Up until this point he’d believed she would listen, that she would believe him, would give him the benefit of the doubt. And she didn’t. His heart cracked.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Hermione </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Death Eater. Death Eater. Death Eater. He’s a Death Eater. He hasn’t changed at all. He wants people like me to die…</em>
</p><p>The disgusting Mark stared at her as his sleeve was still rolled up, making bile rise in her throat.</p><p>
  <em>Death Eater. Death Eater. Death Eater. He lies, was always lying. He still lies.</em>
</p><p>Hermione couldn’t breathe. The air was suffocating and Draco’s – <em>Malfoy’s </em>­– presence only made it worse. His weak attempts at explaining were futile, her heart had turned to stone in her chest. The lies spilling from his lips only made it worse; it was unbearable to hear.</p><p>She tried her best not to listen, to dismiss every word as a lie.</p><p>She couldn’t deny the flicker in her heart; the hope which remained that maybe what he said was true.</p><p>No, she couldn’t afford to hope; too dangerous.</p><p>She couldn’t bear to look at him. Or even share the same space as him, breathing the same air. She needed to leave. She had to tell Dumbledore, warn him that a Death Eater roamed the castle, that he was responsible for the curse Katie had suffered. She had to tell the Headmaster how she’d been fooled, blinded by his lies. She desperately needed to leave. Right now.</p><p>Hermione whirled around. Fat, stingy tears blinded her vision, but she knew where the door was by heart – so, so many hours she’d spent in this room, so, so many happy memories which new crumbled to dust, the books in her library tainted by the betrayal and her broken heart. She soon reached the wall, but she could not discern the door from the stone wall. Hermione fumbled for the door, but her fingers only met the cold stone wall.</p><p><em>Where is the bloody door? </em>Frustration started to mount in her. No matter how thoroughly she searched the wall she couldn’t find it. All her fingertips met was hard and unyielding stone. Frustration turned to desperation as realization hit her hard in the face like she had been slapped. The Room had seemed fit to vanish the door. She couldn’t get out. She was trapped in this room with the treacherous, lying snake. And she couldn’t get out.</p><p>Hermione slammed her curled hands against the wall in anger, in frustration, in sorrow, repeatedly. Pulling her wand, she even tried to Bombarda her way out of the room, firing a rapid series of Bombarda Maxima and Reductos. But the Room didn’t budge; she hadn’t even managed to create a crack in the stones, the Room having seemingly reinforced itself since Umbridge destroyed the wall last year.</p><p>She heard him take another step, and realising she had her back turned to a Death Eater – <em>stupid, dangerous, he could kill you </em>– she whirled around, wand drawn and pointed at him.</p><p>“Not another step,” she warned. He froze, holding his hands up in front of him.</p><p>“Granger, I beg you, please just listen.”</p><p>“No. Just – stop talking.”</p><p>She couldn’t stand to hear another syllable from him.</p><p>“If you won’t listen, will you then see?” his voice pitched and had a shrill tone to it. She tried not to think what it may mean.</p><p>Was he serious? Would he willingly permit her access to his mind? She could take control over his body, make him go insane if she so pleased. Was it a trap? Was he putting in a sense of false security by offering her this access, only to then take advantage and hurt her?</p><p>Would he present her with false memories? Was he skilled enough to do so without leaving a trace in the altered memories? He was intelligent, resourceful, always coming in second in class, but Hermione doubted he was that skilled.  She certainly wasn’t.</p><p>Her hand holding her wand had dropped to her side, no longer a threat to him. Seizing this opportunity he stepped forward, one small step barely even covering any distance at all.</p><p>Could she invade his privacy like this? Did she have the stomach to see and feel whatever he’d seen and felt?</p><p>But, she needed to know for sure, the smallest flick of her heart needed to know. A small hope still burned in her chest, though she’d tried her best to strangle it. It persevered.</p><p>Her arm lifted at its own accord, pointing at his forehead.</p><p>She hesitated for the slightest second, uncertainty flickering in her heart, he caught her eyes, and nodded.</p><p>“Legilimens.”</p><p>She felt him remove his shields, sensing how he tore them down, felt how he passively let her approach. The faintest veil was what remained of his shields, a gentle push and she broke through it, as easily as walking through smoke.</p><p>And she saw everything. Saw everything through his eyes, felt what he felt, heard what he had thought.</p><p>
  <em>He showed her how he’d thought about her the first years of school, how much she annoyed him, how much he disdained her and loathed her, how much he enjoyed when she’d been friendless, how glad he’d been when she’d been the next to be petrified. It made her want to weep. The hatred he felt was overwhelming and made her knees go wobbly.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He shared the odd feeling when he couldn’t gloat in her face, how he actually missed her in class when she was petrified, and how he denied to himself he felt such a way. How he’d been relieved to see her bush of hair in class again.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Shared, when he’d come to realise, he rather enjoyed their verbal sparring, that he found it refreshing and stimulating.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He showed her, how he had noticed the small change in her hair, how her body had begun to fill out with a hint of curves.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Small insignificant fragments, shifting so quickly she couldn’t really tell them apart, blurred with the exception of the specific moments he wanted her to see.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The blurred memories stopped, the scene unfolding itself, becoming crystal clear.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She was thirteen. She recognised the scene, recognised the day. Her wand was pointed at her, Malfoy, and she looked furious with her hair floating around her face. She heard Malfoy notice the fire in her eyes, how glorious he found her in that moment; magic crackling all around her, a force of nature.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The scene shifted; blurring and then came back into focus.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A tall, blond witch walked in front of him, slender and elegant. Shouting and screaming filling the air, explosions and people running in terror, fires illuminating the night.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She felt his panic as Malfoy realised that she was there, somewhere, in danger of getting killed, and a desperate need to watch that fire again, it simply couldn’t be extinguished. And also not understanding the fear and desperation, trying to rationalise why he shouldn’t be feeling this way. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>She felt his relief at finding them, only to be replaced a second later as he realised they were headed towards the Death Eater.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Granger, they’re after Muggles. Do you want to be showing off your knickers in midair? Because if you do, hang around. They’re moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Hermione is a witch,” Harry said, though Malfoy didn’t pay much attention to him, his thoughts desperate for them to leave.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Have it your way, Potter. If you think they can’t spot a Mudblood, stay where you are,” she could feel how the cruel words only served as a coverup for his relief at having found them, and how much he wished for them to flee, heed his warning and get out of there.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Another shift, a new scene.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Her, walking down the stairs in her Yule Ball dress, Malfoy’s thoughts running wild as he absorbed the vision of her, and the only thing which repeated itself was how utterly beautiful he found her. She felt his jealousy when he heard her laugh at something Victor said or did, how flashes of blue had been ever present that evening. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>She felt his resolution; how he decided he would take the chance, scaring off the Ravenclaw two positions from her. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>How his world had slowed when she’d twirled and faced him, being so close to each other, sharing the air between them. She felt his desire to say something, anything, but being unable to do just that. She could feel how he treasured this moment, how he saved the memory of this moment.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The evening flowed together, like he was fast forwarding a movie, stopping after he’d found pleasure to the memory of her, just as he realised, he loved her. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The realisation, obvious once he’d admitted it to himself, made the ground shift underneath his feet; it shifted and changed, forcing him to rethink everything he’d known up until this point. Something akin to peace settled over him as well; no longer could he deny the truth.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Another shift in scenery, but this time nothing came into focus; just like the beginning he concentrated on showing his emotions, focused on singular events and feelings pinpointed to that exact moment. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The sudden feeling of trepidation when he couldn’t spot her during Harry’s second trial; the worry that she wouldn’t emerge from the water. The jealousy of being precious to Victor.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The sadness, anger, jealousy when he realised Ron fancied her, and she might fancy him as well.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>How he’d found a rose with a similar smell to the shampoo she used, and how he’d asked to always have a fresh bouquet in his room.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A new scene, clear and already unfolding.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>They were in potions class. She stared at her own back, and Malfoy noticed how her skirt had crawled up, revealing her knee, and how his mind had gone haywire; imagining the feel of her skin under his hands, his lips, how her body might look like under her robes, making Hermione blush by the clear desire she felt from him. Yearning, to have the freedom to do as his heart desired.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“A moment, Mr. Malfoy?” Malfoy stopped in his tracks and casted a glance at his professor, curious as to what he wanted. “I see you have taken quite a… fancy to Ms. Granger.” She felt him freeze.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he denied. Nobody could ever know, he thought desperately.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>An argument, Malfoy being too proud to see the need of this particular skill. He thought he wouldn’t ever meet Voldemort.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I don’t need you,” Malfoy said in a clipped voice and marched out the room.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“If not to protect yourself or your parents, then do it to protect her.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Malfoy ignored him, firmly believing he wouldn’t need the potions professors help.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Another shift.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A letter from Narcissa Malfoy, a warning and terror blooming in his chest. Realising she was in danger, and what needed to be done. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Standing in front of Snape’s door, being allowed entrance, a single thought ricocheting in his brain: he had to protect them. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I need your help.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Black eyes glinting at him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Very well.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fast forwarding: so many hours spent in Snape’s office, so many hours of Snape penetrating his mind, rummaging through his memories, and ungently helping him to protect his thoughts and memories.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A box; periwinkle and delicate. And she was put in there. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Another shift.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Umbridge’s office, his hands pressing her to his body, could smell her hair and feel how it drove him crazy having her this close, could even feel her box rattle and shake violently, flashes of blue escaping and blinding him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Another shift.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Voldemort in his living room, creepy and inhuman, crimson eyes seeming like they pierced through the soul. The blood freezing in his veins as fear ate away at his inner; every thought, every movement was bathed in fear.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A threat, just like he’d told her, delivered in a satin voice, only enhancing the sense of dread washing over him. His parents and his own life on the line. And hers as well. He realised he had no choice and accepted the Mark.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A mission which was impossible to complete, but he would try nonetheless in the hopes of sparing his parents. Desperate and foolish, but such was the nature of his hope.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Shifting again she found herself in his room.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His arm burned and itched, the skin red and swollen, and an ointment which cooled down his arm. A wish to just cut off his arm; he’d never wanted this.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Another shift.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Anger and shouting. Yelling at Snape how reckless it was to pair him up with her. A sense of danger on her behalf. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>More moments; longing to touch, being so, so close, but never touching. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The calm her presence presented him with, soothing his stress, holding his sanity in place. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The joy when she offered her friendship; it felt like he’d conquered something. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The need of being closer, and closer still. Never close enough. Right there, if only he had the courage.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Their first kiss, how her lips were as soft as he’d imagined, how good and right she tasted, his body on fire, his mind screaming with joy when she returned the kiss. How utterly furious he’d been afterwards, the lack of self-control, his affections only making the target on her back so much bigger. Unable to resist her, and keep wishing – wanting – for more, more, more. Always more.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Desperation, remorse, more stress, not enough sleep as his plans failed, causing so, so much harm. How ill he felt when he’d learned of Katie’s fate.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Still, she relieved his stress, still she soothed his troubled mind and black conscience.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A success, managing something so very difficult, triumph as his plan could work. Hope, it would be enough to save his parents. Dread as it meant he could endanger the whole school. But mostly her – the most well known Muggleborn in Hogwarts, friend of Harry.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The thrill he felt when they explored their relationship even further and the constant fear of her finding out the truth.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And now, the heartache and regret, the shame he felt by bearing the Mark, how unworthy he’d always been of her.</em>
</p><p>She retreated from his mind, from the overwhelming emotions. Her back pressed against the wall and she glided down as her legs gave way under her, no longer able to support her as she was weighed down by her inner turmoil. Her wand clattered on the floor, slipping from her grasp. Silent tears dripping down her face, unable to stop them. not wanting to stop them.</p><p>“Don’t you understand, you daft, brilliant bint?” She didn’t answer. “I love you.”</p><p>And she believed him.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Draco </strong>
</p><p>Granger was sobbing quietly with her back pressed against the wall. Her wand had rolled some distance from her, she would need to stretch quite a bit in order to reach it. Her hair fell in her face, wisps of it caressing her cheeks as her shoulders shook, and he too longed to caress her cheek, to tug the soft strands behind her ear, letting his fingers graze the softness of her skin. He dared not move as she hadn’t moved since the words had escaped his lips.</p><p>Finally, they were out. They’d burned on his tongue for so very long, had begged and pleaded to be released, and now, finally they were. They hung in the air, unable to land as Granger had made no inclination to accept them.</p><p>He couldn’t recall ever saying those words to anyone, not even his parents. Such displays of affection were frowned upon by Father. Mother had said it often when he was younger, but recent years, she said it less and less. He didn’t doubt she loved him though, her actions spoke louder than any words could.</p><p>He crept closer, selfishly needing to be closer to her. He was weak; she was a siren, beckoning him closer. Closer, if he stretched, he would be able to touch her. Closer still, he could feel the heat from her shaking body.</p><p>Unable to resist her, he tucked the stray curls behind her ear, caressing the shell of it as he did so, his heart skipping a beat as she leaned into his touch. Gently, as if she was made of the frailest glass, he wiped away her tears, holding his breath as he expected her to slap away his hand any moment.</p><p>“I love you too,” she sobbed.</p><p>A dam broke inside off him, an overwhelming amount of emotions flooding him, drowning him in their intensity. She loved him.</p><p>He pulled her into an embrace, arms winding around her small body, pressing her against him, breathing in her familiar scent of roses and summer rain and the salt from her tears. He rocked, trying to soothe her, smoothing down the riotous curls, kissing her hair.</p><p>He was exhausted, like he’d been squashed by a Mountain Troll.</p><p>He didn’t know how long he sat on the floor, rocking Granger in his arms, but eventually her sobs subsided.</p><p>“Does –” she hiccupped, “does any – anyone else know?”</p><p>“No. Just you.”</p><p>“You have to tell Dumbledore,” she said into his chest, muffling her words to near obscurity. He stiffened.</p><p>“I – I can’t.”</p><p>She pulled herself from his arms, her eyes finding hers. He felt the loss immediately, his arms empty and the space she’d occupied was cold. Even with tousled hair and red eyes Draco thought she was a vision.</p><p>“You have to. He can help you,” she said, her hands finding her hips. He’d never thought anyone could ever look so stubborn and so ready to strike while simultaneously having a tear-stricken face and red rimmed eyes.</p><p>“How? How can he possibly help me? I’m supposed to kill him.”</p><p>“I don’t know but I’m sure he will do everything in his power and –”</p><p>“And what? Let me kill him?” he couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice.</p><p>“I – I don’t know.”</p><p>His finger caressed her cheek, revelling in the softness of her skin. She’d so much faith in other people, something he found he admired about her. If she hadn’t had so much faith, they probably wouldn’t be here, admitting their tender feelings.</p><p>“It’s impossible, Granger. He can’t help me. What I’ve done is unforgivable.”</p><p>Abruptly she stood, his finger hovering in the air. He let it fall.</p><p>“Either you’ll go with me, or I’ll go alone.”</p><p>She would rat on him? Heat spread over his chest. It stung deeply, like a thousand young Blast-Ended Skrewts had sunk their stingers in his flesh.</p><p>“I’ll – you’ll –” words failed him.</p><p>Seeing his obvious distress, Granger knelt in front of him, taking his hands in hers.</p><p>“You need help. He can help.”</p><p>“Granger,” he started, but she stopped his protests by placing the most tender kiss on his lips.</p><p>“Trust me,” she whispered against his lips, eyes alight and beckoning him to just fall into the depths of them.</p><p>He’d never been able to deny her. He still wasn’t. He sighed, then nodded. She pressed her lips against his again, this time he returned the kiss. It was sweet and tender, and too short.</p><p>It was way past curfew, nearing midnight. The corridor was empty, no sound could be heard except the heavy rain pouring down outside and the snoring from the portraits. Granger cast a Muffliato on their feet.</p><p>Silent and moving in the shadows they made their way through the castle.</p><p>He heard voices down the corridor and approaching steps, echoing of the walls in the empty corridor. They couldn’t risk being spotted, even if they were both prefects, none of them were on duty that night.</p><p>He pulled her into an alcove hidden in the shadows, pressing her against the wall and he couldn’t resist the urge to press himself against her, trapping her there. His hand rested on her hip, the other cupping her cheek. He buried his nose at the crock of her neck, drowning in her delicious smell, feeling her pulse flutter under his lips as he pressed his lips against her. The steps grew louder and discernible words could be heard.</p><p>He nibbled at her skin, her breath hitched. He could stay there, in the alcove with her, forever. They, two boys, were walking right past the alcove, laughing loudly at some joke he hadn’t paid enough attention to, to have heard, too distracted by Granger.</p><p>“Draco… Draco we can’t stay here,” she whimpered as he sucked on her skin.</p><p>“Mmm and why not?” The steps receded, almost out of earshot.</p><p>“You – we,” a soft gasp escaped her.</p><p>“Shush Granger, or we’ll get caught.” They wouldn’t hear them, already far away. His mouth found hers, nibbling her lower lip, exploring her mouth.</p><p>Gently she pushed him away.</p><p>“Don’t pout, Draco, it doesn’t become you,” she said.</p><p>“I don’t pout,” he denied. Her eyes glinted with silent amusement; cheeks reddened by the their snogging.</p><p>She moved past him, checking the corridor.</p><p>“It’s clear, lets go,” she said and left him standing alone in the corridor with a hard on.</p><p>Cursing under his breath he followed her.</p><p>They needn’t go very far until she stopped in front of an ugly looking gargoyle.</p><p>“Toffee éclair,” she said and the gargoyle stepped aside, revealing a spindling staircase.</p><p>“How do you know the password?” he asked as they climbed the stairs.</p><p>“Er, Harry told me,” she said sheepishly.</p><p>“Of course.” She grabbed his hand and gave it a light squeeze.</p><p>The door to the headmaster’s office weren’t as extravagant as the headmaster himself, it was a simple door with no form of decoration.</p><p>Granger raised her small hand and knocked on the door three times. A heavy stone settled in his stomach, anxious pixies roamed in his veins. He couldn’t shake the feeling, that this was a bad idea, that he was dooming himself and his parents. He would be expelled, he was sure of it, sent to Azkaban to join Father, leaving Mother at the mercy of a soulless monster. <em>Why did I let her persuade me? </em></p><p>Her golden eyes found his, her lips stretching into a reassuring smile.</p><p>“Enter,” they heard a muffled voice beckon them. Swallowing, he entered the office with Granger. He’d never been in Dumbledore’s office before; it was oval, with shelves of odd silver objects he’d never seen before. Shelves with books aligned the back of the office, behind the desk where Dumbledore was seated. By his right a Phoenix sat, head tucked underneath a wing, fast asleep. Dumbledore wore his usual flamboyant robes, these were limegreen with yellow stars. “Ah, Ms. Granger, Mr. Malfoy. What brings you to my office this fine evening?”</p><p>“Good evening Professor Dumbledore,” Granger greeted the man in front of them.</p><p>Draco’s vocal cords refused to obey, refused to press air into intelligible words, so he opted for a stiff nod. Silence stretched between the three of them, Dumbledore only showing mild curiosity on his face as he gazed upon them over the rim of his glasses.</p><p>Granger jabbed her elbow into his rib – how she’d managed to weaponize elbows he would never know – and he flinched.</p><p>“Ouch,” he grunted and rubbed his side.</p><p>“We have something to tell you, professor,” Granger said, taking a step forward.</p><p>“I see. Why don’t you sit down?” Dumbledore suggested as two chairs pulled from the desk, offering their seat.</p><p>“I –” Draco started but the words dried out. He cleared his throat. “I took the Mark.”</p><p>The mild curiosity transformed into a serious expression, he straightened in his chair, pushing his glasses further up his crooked nose.</p><p>“Ms. Granger, if you’ll be so kind as to return to your dormitory,” he requested, but his eyes never left Draco’s. Something was rummaging in his head, he felt a slight dizziness as the strange presence prodded at his shields, and slammed up his walls, reinforcing them to keep the intruder out. Granger opened her mouth to protest, no doubt by the stubborn set of her jaw, but he beat her to it.</p><p>“With all due respect, professor, I’m only here because of her. Everything you tell me, I’ll tell her.”</p><p>The old man regarded him for a moment, blue eyes twinkling at something, though Draco didn’t understand why.</p><p>“Love truly is the most powerful force. Very well,” he nodded. “Mr. Malfoy, would you prefer to tell me or show me?”</p><p>The presence, Dumbledore, in his minds gently pushed at his wall, and Draco let them fall, he let them crumble for the second time that day.</p><p>A gentle prodding as Dumbledore searched his memories, almost like a warm brise shifting through his mind. Draco hid nothing from the old man, laying himself bare.</p><p>Draco showed him everything.</p><p>***</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And the plot thickens! Or at least I can see it thicken. </p><p>Have I ever mentioned how much I hate writing dialogue? And this chapter had it in abundance… I just think it’s so hard to get it to sound natural and flowing. Hope it isn’t as noticeable as I think it is (nervous laugh and fiddling). </p><p>Stay safe!<br/>Much love from me.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Chapter 23</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>First of all, I’m very sorry for this delay. <br/>Life got a little crazy. My concussion caused me to believe I had another week to write an exam paper, and, five days before it was due, I realised my error and stressed about it. It got delivered on time (yay), but pro tip: concussions and stress do not play well!<br/>Second, thank you so very much for your comments, kudos and bookmarks! I’m humbled and so very grateful for your kind remarks!</p><p>I really hope you’ll enjoy this chapter. I struggled a lot with the wording, but I think it turned out really well (if I say so myself).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Hermione</strong>
</p><p>“A vanishing cabinet,” Dumbledore breathed. “Ingenious!”</p><p>Draco said nothing, all blood had left his face, leaving him more pale than usual. A thin sheen of sweat covered his forehead, making strands of hair cling to it. His breathing was shallow, lungs not fully expanding. Draco sat in his chair, stiff as a board with a clenched jaw. His arms rested on the armrests, hands clutching at the armrests and Hermione covered his right hand with her left hand. She could feel him relax a little bit at the contact; the muscles in his hand no longer holding the armrest in a death grip.</p><p>Dumbledore watched the small display of affection, something like a smile ghosting the corner of his mouth. Fawkes was preening his feathers behind the headmaster and the small puffs from the silver devices broke the silence.</p><p>“Not to worry, I’ll make sure the wine doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.” He waved his hand as if he batted away an annoying insect.</p><p>Draco nodded; a simple dip of his chin.</p><p>Hermione knew some kind of conversation was happening between them – or rather a series of questions directed at Dumbledore – as Dumbledore would sometimes nod or shake his head in the lightest motion, barely even noticeable unless one looked at him. Hermione could do nothing but to observe the two men in their almost silent conversation.</p><p>Dumbledore leaned forward, supporting his weight on his left arm.</p><p>“Are you willing to do whatever it takes in order to bring Voldemort to his demise?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“To do what I ask of you, whatever it may be?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Dumbledore abruptly turned towards a portrait of an unknown wizard with a simple dark blue robe, white hair with a trimmed matching beard and square spectacles perched on his large button nose. “Henry, the time has come.” As the portrait le, Dumbledore turned towards them once more.</p><p><em>Why isn’t he addressing the matter at hand? </em>She didn’t understand why Dumbledore seemed to be so unfazed, so calm in his exterior, like he hadn’t just learned about a student being a Death Eater and sent on a mission to kill him. How could he be so calm?</p><p>Dumbledore gave them a warm smile, blue eyes twinkling with kindness at them over his half-moon spectacles sitting on his long, crooked nose.</p><p>“Would you like some Treacle fudge while we wait? I must confess they are among my favourite sweets,” Dumbledore offered them a bowl with the beforementioned sweets. Hermione shook her head, and she sensed Draco did the same. “Oh, then you wouldn’t mind if I…?” They both shook their heads, and Dumbledore popped one in his mouth, an expression of utter delight spreading on his face.</p><p>Hermione noticed that he kept his right hand under the table or tangled into his robes whenever he stood. She knew, from Harry, that his hand had been seriously injured, but not even Harry knew what had happened. He hadn’t told her much either; only that three of his fingers had turned grey. Come to think of it, Dumbledore had been very careful in not showing his hand during feasts and speeches. She wondered what had caused the injury, and why he felt the need for secrecy seeing as Harry knew – the secret already spilled. Or perhaps Dumbledore trusted Harry to keep quiet?</p><p>A sharp knock broke her musings, Dumbledore flicked his wrist and the door opened to reveal Snape on the other side, looking dark and gloomy with deep shadows in his gaunt face. He strode in in long steps, making the robe flutter behind him and giving him the appearance of Death striding in the room. Snape didn’t even spare Hermione and Draco a glance only stopping once he reached the desk with the many strange objects. Draco had stiffened, not moving a single muscle for several moments.</p><p>“You called, Headmaster?” He sounded bored, like he had something better or more important to do.</p><p>“Severus, I’m so glad you came,” Dumbledore said, his attention having shifted to Snape. Snape merely cocked an eyebrow, allowing some light to fall into his black eyes, catching the warm light in the room and almost giving him a twinkle. Dumbledore smiled fondly at the gloomy professor. “The time has come.”</p><p>Snape’s dark eyes snapped to them, burning in their intensity, though Hermione didn’t know why that was. Her limbs tensed of their own accord, ready to flee, though she knew the notion to be foolish.</p><p>“Is that so?” Snape said. Whether it was a question for Dumbledore to answer or if it was meant as a thought, Hermione didn’t know.</p><p>“What I’m now sharing with you must not leave this room,” Dumbledore said, once again serious, and ignoring Snape. “Not even Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley can know, it’s imperative they be kept in the dark,” he continued, addressing her. “Can you both promise me secrecy?”</p><p>Out the corner of her eye, she saw Draco nod, followed by a “yes, Professor.” Hermione’s lips, however, were glued together like they’d been hit with a sticking charm.</p><p>Not tell Harry and Ron? But they shared everything! <em>Besides your relationship with Draco,</em> a voice sneered in her head. She pushed the voice away, refusing to dwell on the truth it’d spoken.</p><p>“Ms. Granger? I know this must of great difficulty to you, but you cannot tell anyone.”</p><p>“I – I understand,” she whispered. Seemingly pleased with her response he continued.</p><p>“First, how much have Mr. Potter shared with you, Ms. Granger – no need to pretend he doesn’t share everything with yourself and Mr. Weasley, I always take the fact into consideration,” his eyes twinkled, “how much do you know?”</p><p>“I know that you’ve been showing Harry memories of You Know Who while he grew up, his time at Hogwarts and the time following Hogwarts while he worked for Borgin and Burkes,” she answered. The headmaster nodded while stroking his beard. She was missing something, she knew. There had to be a reason to search those memories, though Harry hadn’t told them. Harry probably didn’t know either.</p><p>“We are looking for clues,” Dumbledore filled in after a few seconds of silence.</p><p>“Clues? To what?” Draco asked, curiosity staining his tone.</p><p>“Nothing will change from your original plan regarding the cabinet, Mr. Malfoy,” Dumbledore said, completely ignoring Draco’s question.</p><p>“What?” Both Draco and Hermione said, disbelief colouring their voices. Was this his master plan? To let murderers and psychopaths roam around the school?</p><p>“You will bring the Death Eaters into the castle.”</p><p>“But I don’t want to endanger the entire school! They’re madmen!” Draco sputtered.</p><p>The hand which didn’t hold onto Draco’s trembled, her mouth had gone dry.</p><p>“Professor, forgive me for asking, but how could this possibly be to our advantage?” Hermione asked with a calm voice. How could her voice be so calm when she was anything but calm?</p><p>“I’ll be dead within six months,” Dumbledore said, a smile tugging at his lips.</p><p>Dumbledore placed his right hand on the desk in front of him, and Hermione could only stare. It wasn’t just three of his fingers, it was his whole hand, and it hadn’t turned grey, no, it had turned black. It looked charred, like wood after a ravaging fire, frail and ready to crumble at the lightest of touches.</p><p>Her mind came to a screeching halt. She stared at the kind, wise man in front of her, blinking rapidly, trying to process the information, to make sense of the words but to no avail. <em>Dead within six months. </em>The ability to ask how, and why, and when, and –</p><p>“How have you been containing the curse?” Draco asked, his voice steady. How could he be so calm? <em>And how the bloody Hell does he know it’s a curse?</em></p><p>Dumbledore’s eyes glinted as he procured something from the inside of his robes. In his hand he held a vial with a golden liquid with a mother of pearl sheen.</p><p>
  <em>Six months… dead…</em>
</p><p>“I believe you’re familiar with this particular potion,” he said, glancing at them over the rim of his glasses.</p><p>“The Essence of Life,” Hermione whispered. <em>Dead… within six months… summer. It’ll be summer. Dead.</em></p><p>“Yes, Ms. Granger. Severus has been kind enough to brew me several batches. It’s slowing down the curse but can’t cure it – as you both figured out with your own batch.”</p><p><em>Six months… </em>finally the words made sense. Albus Dumbledore, the genius, their protector, the only one with enough power and wisdom to take on Voldemort, was dying. And he wouldn’t be able to fight in the war. At all. He would leave them to fight the evilest wizard in history. And to think, all she’d cared about had been her upcoming exams and S.P.E.W. How foolish she had been. She’d just relied on the fact, that Dumbledore would fight with them. That the war was years away. That they had time.</p><p>Time was the only thing they didn’t have, it seemed.</p><p>
  <em>Six months. All we have is six months.</em>
</p><p>“I need Voldemort to trust you, Mr. Malfoy. And only by allowing his followers into the school will you gain his trust.”</p><p>“Perhaps there is another way, Headmaster?”</p><p>“I understand your apprehension, Severus. This is the only way.”</p><p>“He expects me to kill you,” Draco said, “and even though I know you’re dying, I can’t bring myself to do it.”</p><p>“Severus will do it for you –”</p><p>“You’re a Death Eater?” Draco blurted, sounding horrified, like he’d just discovered a deep and dark secret, and the words came across as an accusation rather than a question. Snape took immediate offense, his gloomy persona turned murderous, like a thundercloud ready to unleash its wrath.</p><p>“Why, you insolent little –”</p><p>“That’s enough, Severus,” Dumbledore interrupted, not even raising his voice. Snape snapped his mouth shut, his teeth clicking together. “I understand your doubts, Mr. Malfoy, but I assure you, Severus is working for me, and has done so these past sixteen years. He’s no more a Death Eater than you are.” Dumbledore gave Draco a pointed look, eyes hard, though his lips were still soft around the edges.  “If you are to bring access to the castle, Voldemort will forgive you for not being the one killing me. And, more importantly, we can control when, and thus making sure every student is in their beds. So what I ask of you, Mr. Malfoy, is that you stall him until the end of June.”</p><p>“The Dark – You Know Who will try to read my mind.”</p><p>“And you will let him. I trust Severus has taught you enough to hide your real intentions and thoughts.”</p><p>“Indeed, Mr. Malfoy is skilled,” Snape confirmed, tone as flat as his greasy hair.</p><p>A sharp sting of pain made her realize she’d bit her cheek, and the metallic taste told her she’d drawn blood. Her blood left a tangy aftertaste in her mouth.</p><p>“You will not be a spy alongside Severus in Voldemort’s inner circle once I’m dead,” Dumbledore continued, as if they were merely discussing the weather. “You’ll do whatever it takes to stall his progress. You’ll be my saboteur.”</p><p>“Professor –”</p><p>“Not to worry, Ms. Granger, I’ll help Mr. Malfoy prepare for such a task,” the old man dismissed with a slight wave of his hand, “after the holiday break, of course.”</p><p>Her head was spinning, her eyes unable to really focus on anything. And Dumbledores blue eyes pierced through her and a sense of being read, that he knew each and every thought running through her head –</p><p>
  <em>He’s a Legilimens. You just witnessed it. Of course he’s reading your mind… </em>
</p><p>It hit her, hard in the face, that she’d let her guards down, her library open to whomever wanted access. Her Occlumency was not strong enough, it was weak and flawed, though her mind was organized neatly. Her shields, the most important part, were no stronger than a piece of parchment, crumbling to dust whenever she lost her focus.</p><p>“I’ll improve Ms. Grangers Occlumency,” Snape drawled, his eyes as piercing as Dumbledores.</p><p>Heat bloomed on her cheeks. She’d been read by Snape as well. She lowered her eyes to her lap, her hair falling in her face and tickling her throat.  </p><p>“Thank you, Severus.”</p><p>“We will begin after the holiday as well. Twice a week, Tuesday and Thursday, at seven p.m. Don’t be late.”</p><p>“Yes Professor,” Hermione said while nodding.</p><p>“Now, I believe it’s due time you two head off to bed. It’s late, and you’ll be heading home in a few hours,” Dumbledore said.</p><p>Her body felt numb as she stood; the floor was unstable under her feet; the flat stone had transformed into rocky terrain. Sounds were amplified; the stool scraping against the stone was grating in her ears. Fawkes’ preening was too loud.</p><p>“Goodnight,” Dumbledore said from behind them.</p><p>“Goodnight, Professor,” Hermione mumbled. Draco was quiet.</p><p>It was late – or early depending on one’s view, they’d spent the majority of the night in Dumbledore’s office. Hermione’s body was heavy, like she’d spent the last hours running.</p><p>Her head throbbed and her eyes felt heavier by the second. She longed for her bed, the soft madras and the duvet in the burgundy red of Gryffindor.</p><p>Without a word Draco grabbed her hand, a firm yet gentle grip. Hermione laced her fingers with his; at this hour she wasn’t worried about getting caught by other students.</p><p>They walked in silence side by side.</p><p>Minutes later found them on the seventh floor, not in their respective dorm. Their room greeted them with dim embers in the hearth, a pleasant warmth in the room. Draco led her to the bed.</p><p>They undressed each other, pushing the robes off. As her fingers began unbuttoning his shirt, he grabbed her wrists, stopping her progress. She glanced up at him through her lashes. His face was cut in stone, revealing no emotions. But his eyes burned into hers, intense as he kept eye contact.</p><p>“It’s okay,” she whispered and tried to continue unbuttoning. He didn’t budge. Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips, and his eyes followed to movement, like they always did.</p><p>Tentatively she raised her hands, he offered no resistance, and she cupped his cheek.</p><p>He leaned into her touch, inhaling deeply with his nose buried in her palm. His own hands stroked her arms, all the way up to her shoulder. He pushed her hair out of her face and behind her ear, his finger trailing her cheek, the outline of her lips.</p><p>He let her remove his shirt. Her hand trailed the flat planes of his chest and stomach, she could feel the muscles ripple under her fingertips.</p><p>Hermione didn’t notice the ink staining the marble of his skin.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Draco </strong>
</p><p>They’d shared heated kisses and whispered promises. He’d been drunk on the taste of her and his hands had wandered her body greedily, memorising her curves and the feel of her flesh beneath his palms. He’d wanted more, more of her, more of them secluded in their own bubble far away from reality, more time.</p><p>He could still taste the sweet taste of her cunt on his lips, and he found himself licking them more often than usual. Every lick sent a shiver down his spine and a fresh rush of lust to his groin. Already he was painfully hard, and the train had left Hogsmeade less than an hour previously.</p><p>She’d been glorious, sprawled on the bed, naked and blushing. Her moans had filled out the room. And her swollen flesh had been slick for him, by him, because of him. He’d let his fingers dance over her folds, trying to mimic what he always did with his tongue and mouth, listening to her response and adjusting, swallowing some of her moans with his mouth greedily, but in the end his name had spilled from her lips while his face was buried in the bliss which was her cunt –</p><p>The door opening and the closing interrupted his train of thought and the seat across from him was now occupied by Crabbe and Goyle. Goyle grunted as he sunk into the cushions. Their ugly mugs were the last Draco wanted to see right now. He readjusted himself in his seat, hiding his boner from view.</p><p>Draco turned his head, resting it against the cold glass of the window, gazing at the landscape rushing by.</p><p>Hogsmeade had been covered in snow, a heavy blanket. It’d crunched under his feet, the cold biting his exposed cheeks. Small flakes had been drizzling from the sky. He’d seen her from distance, packed in mittens and scarf with snow clinging to her insane curls.</p><p>But now, 60 kilometres or so from Hogwarts, rain had replaced the snow. It drummed against the window. The world outside was brown and grey; the forests bare from any leaves, the ground muddy.</p><p>Granger returned to his mind. They’d been in bed, her body soft and warm as he pressed her to him. His skin had tingled from her fingers drawing soft circles on his back, the soothing strokes up his arms left goosebumbs.</p><p>He caught snippets of their ‘whispered’ conversation, not bothering to pay attention as it seemed unimportant anyway, preoccupied in his own mind.</p><p>“Can’t wait to go back home –”</p><p>“– Abbott girl refusing you?”</p><p>“Shut up!”</p><p>“She’ll come around –”</p><p>Her golden eyes glancing up at him through her lashes.</p><p>“Awful term –”</p><p>“Tell me about it –”</p><p>“Failing Care for Magical Creatures –”</p><p>“He’s a fucking moron –”</p><p>Her fingers stroking through his hair, her nails scraping pleasantly against his scalp.</p><p>“Failing Divination –”</p><p>“Old hag is a fraud –”</p><p>“Not the only one –”</p><p>Her rosy lips stretching in a wonderful smile, the roundness of her hip under his palm.</p><p>“It’ll change soon enough –”</p><p>“Finally, it’s our turn –”</p><p>“An honour –”</p><p>“We’ll have a celebration dinner –”</p><p>The taste of her lips and mouth, her soft hair between his fingers.</p><p>“– he knows?”</p><p>“He must know, He trusts him –”</p><p>“Can’t wait to get my –”</p><p>“Join our Fathers –”</p><p>Draco’s stomach dropped.</p><p>–––</p><p>Draco was greeted by his Mother on Kings Cross. People were keeping their distance to her, condemning her of Father’s choices. As her usual, she was impeccably dressed, not a fold or crease could be seen in her dark green gown. Her skin, however, had a greyish tint to it, as if she was ill.</p><p>“Draco, darling, you look well,” Mother greeted him, kissing his cheek.</p><p>“Thank you, Mother. You look –”</p><p>“No need to lie dearest, I have eyes in my head still,” she said, a small tug of her lips. His Mother rarely interrupted people, so instead he opted for something else to say.</p><p>“I trust you are well.”</p><p>They made their way through the throng. For once it wasn’t difficult, everyone shied away from them, even the Parkinsons, though they knew them to be supportive of Voldemort. No one could afford to be associated with them.</p><p>“I’m here, aren’t I?” she finally replied after a silence which had been too long in Draco’s opinion.</p><p>Not knowing what to say he simply nodded.</p><p>Muggle part of Kings Cross was crowded, and no one knew them, who they were, what they had done. Muggles passed them by, busy with their daily routines, sipping coffee, having a bite of food, reading documents. Some even held their ear while talking.</p><p>Outside and away from prying eyes, they apparated to the Manor.</p><p>The gardens were covered in snow with a dark grey sky above. The Manor blended in with the white surroundings. It was dark inside, and the large windows appeared to be several dozens of eyes, staring down at them ominously. His skin prickled, like flobberworms were crawling under his skin. Every step towards the Manor had his heart lurch itself in his throat.</p><p>
  <em>You can’t panic. Breathe, focus on your breathing… in, out…</em>
</p><p>As he focused on his breathing his Occlumency naturally settled in his mind: all boxes were neatly packed and organized, his walls reinforced.</p><p>Once inside Violet accepted their cloaks. The elf greeted them with her squeaky voice, and Draco noticed how it trembled. Her little hands were covered in barely healed wounds, and she sported several bruises on her quivering body. Draco glanced at Mother, an unspoken question in his eyes. She dipped her chin, once.</p><p>The poor creature scurried away quickly, as if she expected a beating. Which she probably had received many times while he’d been away.</p><p>Something had changed in the Manor. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but the walls, ceilings, air, felt oppressing, like they tried to suffocate him.</p><p>“Cissy, why did it take so long?” His Aunt appeared from around a corner, a vision in her black dress with a tight bodice and her dark, springy curls. Since the half year which had passed since he’d last seen Aunt Bella, much had happened; she seemed overall healthier, which was no surprise, given she’d now resided in their home for a full year.</p><p>“Apologies, Bella. Kings Cross were quite cramped today.”</p><p>Aunt Bella made a face, contorting her beautiful features into something one could only describe as being ugly, as disgust was clear on her face.</p><p>“Full of the vermin, I suppose,” she spat. “They shouldn’t be allowed to live.”</p><p>“No,” Draco agreed, sinking deeper into Occlumency.</p><p>“They’re lucky our Lord wasn’t there,” Aunt Bella sneered.  </p><p>“Speaking of,” Mother said, “where is our great Lord?”</p><p>Aunt Bella gave a wicked grin, showcasing her rotting teeth and dimples.</p><p>“Visiting our allies,” she stated, a dark glint in her darker eyes.</p><p>Draco was filled with relief by the prospect of not seeing Voldemort in the nearest future. It meant he could relax for a few hours.</p><p>“I see. Are we to be graced by his presence for dinner?” Mother asked in a toneless voice, like she was conversing about the weather.</p><p>“I wouldn’t know, Cissy. I don’t question him,” Aunt Bella bit back, clearly displeased with Mother’s question.</p><p>“No, of course not. We live to follow our wise Lord,” Mother replied smoothly.</p><p>Draco decided he was not involved in this conversation and began heading for the door, one silent step at a time.</p><p>“Where do you think you’re going? Aren’t you going to greet me?” Aunt Bella said, her voice sharp as a whiplash, her hands placed on her hips and her plumb lips pursed.</p><p>“Of course, forgive me dearest Aunt,” Draco said smoothly and pressed a kiss to his Aunt’s cheek. She nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Now, if you’ll please excuse me. It’s been a tiring day of traveling.”</p><p>“Of course, darling. We’ll call you down for dinner,” Mother replied.</p><p>Draco quickly retreated to his room. Everything looked as when he’d left on September 1<sup>st</sup>. Violet had already placed his trunk at the foot of his bed.</p><p>Not bothering to change out of his clothes, Draco slumped on his bed. Last nights lack of sleep hit him with a vengeance; his eyelids were filled with lead. He found it harder and harder to keep them open. Soon, his muscles relaxed, he felt warm and comfortable on his soft bed, the scent of roses lingering in his nose.</p><p>A loud crack tore him from a dreamless sleep, he sat up straight, frantically searching for the source of the sound. Violet stood in the middle of his room, furiously twitching her ear in her small hands.</p><p>“Dinner is ready, Master Draco.”</p><p>“Thank you, Violet,” he said, a second later she vanished with a pop. Draco glanced at his clothes, wrinkled from sleep. It wouldn’t do. Flicking his wand and casting a nonverbal ironing incantation, his robes straightened out creases and wrinkles.</p><p>Quietly he made his way to the dining room. Portraits had hushed conversations as he strolled past.</p><p>Mother and Aunt Bella sat at the table, waiting for him, sitting beside each other on the length of the table.</p><p>He sat opposite Mother and Aunt Bella, and the first dish appeared in front of him. A lovely scallop soup with fresh peas and mint. Course after course was served, each delicious and prepared with the upmost care, and they ate in silence. Not even the clatter of utensils against porcelain could be heard.</p><p>After dinner, when their cutlery had vanished, and they’d retreated into a drawing room to spend quality time as a family – Aunt Bella’s idea, an idea he would much to prefer to be omitted from – a shadow slithered into the room.</p><p>“Ah, welcome back, young Draco,” it whispered and the blood in his veins froze.</p><p>“My Lord,” Aunt Bella gasped, and in her eager to bow for him, she knocked the chair over as she stood frantically. Mother was more graceful in her movements, and Draco followed her example of being composed and elegant in his movements as he stood and bowed.</p><p>“Thank you, My Lord. I’m pleased to be in your presence once again.”</p><p>Draco could feel Voldemort’s blood red eyes boring into his skull.</p><p>“How confusing,” he hissed. Draco chances a glance at the looming wizard, his lip-less mouth were pulled back, showing of his sharp teeth, like he was snarling at him.</p><p>“My Lord?”</p><p>Draco straightened.</p><p>“Had I not asked you to kill Dumbledore?”</p><p>Draco heard Mother’s sharp inhale.</p><p>“Yes, My Lord.”</p><p>In a swift movement, fast as a striking snake, Voldemort stood in front of him, red eyes gleaming menacingly at him. His breath fanning over his face. It smelled like rot.</p><p>“Then why isn’t he dead yet?”</p><p>“I’m working on it, My Lord –”</p><p>“You’re not working fast enough!” The pale wizard snapped, his teeth clicking.</p><p>A presence pushed itself against his legs, and Draco instinctively knew it was Nagini. She slithered up his leg up to his knee, tightening her hold.</p><p>“I’m working as fast as I can, My Lord,” Draco said, trying to reassure the dark wizard. A low hiss from Voldemort, and Nagini tightened her hold on his leg.</p><p>“What have you achieved thus far?” he hissed.</p><p>“I – My Lord?”</p><p>“No matter, I’ll just see for myself,” he whispered, and without with no further warning, he felt Voldemort forcefully enter his mind, and Draco made his shield weaker while hiding the compromising memories somewhere safe.</p><p>Where Dumbledore had been a gentle presence, who had calmly shifted through his boxes, taking great care in being considerate when searching his memories, Voldemort was the exact opposite. He slashed trough his mind, tearing open boxes and hacking through his memories. It felt like his mind was being torn open by claws, ripping and tearing.</p><p>Draco felt Voldemort’s disapproval at his failed attempts, condescending comments about his failures, his weakness’. Draco felt Voldemort’s ire rising, felt his bloodlust rise higher still.</p><p>Nagini tightened her grip again. If she tightened her hold any further, Draco was sure his leg would snap like a twig.</p><p>Then, Voldemort stopped at a particular memory, and the plan which had sprouted in Draco back then.</p><p>“A vanishing cabinet… that might work.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Oh yeah, and I changed the title. I never liked it much, but needed one and now, finally, I thought of the perfect title. <br/>As always, thank you for reading. <br/>Stay safe.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Chapter 24</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I want to thank you for all your comments Though I’ve been really bad at replying, but I read and cherish each and every one! I really appreciate your investment and I’m thrilled every single time you comment. Thank you, and thank you for appreciating the work I put into this fic – it may not be perfect (first try and all), but I do my very best. Thank you for reading, commenting, bookmark and kudos. They really mean so much to me.</p><p>Short chapter (sorry) but nonetheless a chapter. It’s dark and mentions torture, know your triggers.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Draco </strong>
</p><p>Christmas had been horrid. There’d been no celebration, not that he’d been in the mood to celebrate anyway. The air had been heavy, like a heavy duvet had replaced the usual atmosphere the Manor had. He’d been on edge the entire time, his guards up and walls even higher.</p><p>His ancestral home didn’t feel like home.</p><p>There’d never been many happy or nostalgic memories in the halls of Malfoy Manor, but now, a darkness had crept in and taken abode, and with the darkness a cold wind had followed and swept through the Manor and it seeped into his bones, causing him to shiver involuntarily throughout the day. It would always be followed by a cautious glance, trying to spot if anyone had noticed him.</p><p>Three days.</p><p>Three more days and he would return to Hogwarts.</p><p>Three days, and the warmth would return to his body.</p><p>Three days, and he would escape the shadows and the cold winds.</p><p>Three days, and he would escape this nightmare.</p><p>
  <em>Breathe. In, out, breathe, focus…</em>
</p><p>The dining room was shrouded in shadows. Colours seemed duller, like the once vibrant greens, yellows and blues had lost their pigment, turning them grey. A lightening flashed outside, splitting the sky in two, illuminating the room and the people occupying the room sitting around the grand dining table. Their faces were all different, except their eyes; they were all glinting with anticipation and malice. Some faces shared the same haggard look to them; shadows too deep in their cheeks, eyes sunken in and their skin were gaunt and with a yellow-grey tint.</p><p>Those people, the people with the shadows of Azkaban lingering over them, their eyes contained something else, something extra. A spark of insanity, a flick of madness.</p><p>Aunt Bella was seated beside him near the head of the table, placing her at Voldemort’s right side, right next to him. Though, he hadn’t appeared yet. Mother sat at his other side, still as a statue, pale as a sheet.</p><p>The rat like man, who had moved in during Christmas, was standing in the corner of the room, almost completely obscured by the shadows. Hiding. His name was fitting considering his appearances, Wormtail. Aunt Bella was very vocal about her distrust of the man, but never in her Lord’s presence, no whenever he was present she would bat her eyes at him and simper while leaning foward, reminding him strongly of Pansy.</p><p>Faint screams ricochet in the room. They came from the dungeons, though he was sure they moved closer. At this moment Draco thanked his Occlumency otherwise he would have flinched at every vocal cord shattering scream. Their prisoner had been screaming for days.</p><p>“The nasty pest is getting the treatment it deserves,” Yaxley snickered, and voices of agreement supported him.</p><p>“Our Lord is always very thorough,” Carrow said, voice full of admiration. More voiced their agreement.</p><p>“The Mudblood needs to have its tongue cut out,” Fenrir purred, yellow eyes glinting with bloodlust. “I would mind a little snack.”</p><p>Vile cackles erupted, drowning out the screams. For a moment.</p><p>“Shouldn’t be allowed to sit with us, filthy half-breed,” Aunt Bella mumbled under her breath, only just loud enough for Draco to hear it over the laughter.</p><p>Another lightning cracked the sky.</p><p>Fenrir’s yellow eyes glinted in the light.</p><p>Two seats were still unoccupied.</p><p>The screams stopped; the hushed conversations stopped. The sudden silence rang in his ears.</p><p>The heavy door opened, and two figures strode into the dining hall.</p><p>Backs straight, shoulders square, and a proud spring in their steps. Their lips were curled in smiles that seemed out of place on their faces, too happy, too willing – clearly, they had no clue what they’d agreed to. Crabbe puffed up his chest when he caught Draco’s eyes, his grin widening. Goyle offered a nod. They took their seats.</p><p>
  <em>Those idiots.</em>
</p><p>Seconds later Voldemort glided into the room, silent as a shadow, whit Nagini slithering next to him, and the room seemed darker, colder. Behind him body floated in the air – whether it was a woman or man, Draco couldn’t tell. Voldemort slipped into his seat in a fluent motion. The hovering body continued to drift and stopped once it was in the centre of the table.</p><p>Each and every person seated at the table lowered their heads, bowed for their Lord.</p><p>It was a woman Draco could now see. Her body was covered in bruises and cuts, some were still fresh enough to bleed, others had coagulated blood cacking to her skin and clothes. She was missing and ear and several fingers.</p><p>“Welcome, my friends,” Voldemort greeted in a lipless smile, crimson eyes darting over the assembled faces. “Allow me to introduce Shannon McKinney. She’s a Muggle politician.”</p><p>The Death Eaters sneered and shouted, called the woman vile names. Voldemort raised a pale hand and they all quieted down.</p><p>“Shannon couldn’t provide me with any useful information. I no longer have a purpose for her.”</p><p>“Kill it, My Lord!” Yaxley yelled from the other end of the table.</p><p>“It’s disgusting, polluting the air we breathe!” McNair exclaimed.</p><p>Shannon started sobbing, loud hiccups escaped the frail looking woman and her body shock.</p><p>“N-no, no, please don’t hurt me,” she pleaded, her voice hoarse after her endless screaming. “Ple-please don’t hurt me. I won’t tell anybody, I swear, please let me –”</p><p>“<em>Crucio!</em>” Voldemort pointed his bone-white wand at the woman and screams erupted immediately.</p><p>Not a single person flinched from the agonizing voice. Several people, including Crabbe and Aunt Bella, looked like they took great pleasure in the woman’s pain.</p><p>
  <em>Breathe, slow, in, out. Again. In, out. Again. </em>
</p><p>Seconds, which felt like hours, later, Voldemort lifted the curse and the screaming died. Her body twitched.</p><p>“We have some new faces among us tonight,” Voldemort said, completely unaffected by the sobbing woman he’d just tortured. “Welcome, Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe.”</p><p>“Thank you, My Lord,” they both said, bowing their heads submissively. Voldemort simply waved his hand, his cold, red eyes already focusing on the Muggle woman again.</p><p>“I think she’ll provide excellent training for our new recruits,” Voldemort purred. Shannon started wailing again. Her body still twitched.</p><p>“Excellent idea, My Lord!” Aunt Bella exclaimed eagerly, leaning in over the table, her black mass of hair spilling in all directions. Out the corner of his eye he could see she was practically jumping in her seat.</p><p>“Goyle,” Voldemort called, his voice as sharp as a cracking whip.</p><p>Goyle flinched in his seat and raised his eyes to the creature whom they called Lord.</p><p>“Yes, My Lord?” his voice barely shook.</p><p>“How familiar are you with The Cruciatus Curse?”</p><p>Shannon heaved in heavy gulps of air.</p><p>“I – uhm, it’s one of The Unforgivable Curses, and –”</p><p>“No, no, silly boy, I meant: have you ever used it before?” Voldemort purred gently, the words spilling from his lips were so wrong to his persona.</p><p>The Death Eaters surrounding him snickered.</p><p>“I haven’t, My Lord,” he said, his voice failing him at the end and he deflated; he no longer sat ramrod straight in his seat.</p><p>“I see,” Voldemort sounded displeased, his eyes narrowed. “Didn’t your Father raise you in my image?”</p><p>“Yes, My Lord, he did,” Goyle said. “But he didn’t teach me any Unforgivable –”</p><p>“What about you, Crabbe?” Voldemort hissed.</p><p>Crabbe slowly shook his head. “No, My Lord. I wasn’t taught any Unforgivable,” he said, carefully choosing his words and tone, while keeping his eyes downcast. The very picture of submission.</p><p>“I confess myself to be disappointed. It would seem the only one who has been brought up in my image is young Draco, seeing as he is able to cast The Imperio Curse,” Voldemort snapped. His nails scraped against the hard wooden table, leaving marks. Draco couldn’t help but wonder how his nails didn’t break.</p><p>“Well done, Draco,” Aunt Bella praised in a whispered voice, her back a little straighter. “I knew the Black blood wasn’t lost in you.”</p><p>“But,” Voldemort continued, “it isn’t enough. You must be able to cast every curse if you are of any use to me.”</p><p>Draco swallowed. “Of course, My Lord.”</p><p>Draco drew his wand, his pulse quickened, and his skin felt clammy. <em>Fuck… no, I can’t – I have to, fuck, I can’t, fuck, fuck. </em>His chest refused to expand, like a metal band was tightening around it.</p><p>“Your eagerness deserves praise young Draco, but I think Goyle and Crabbe needs the practice more.”</p><p>“As you wish, My Lord,” Draco said, pocketing his wand while a small stone lifted from his shoulders.</p><p>“Crabbe, if you’d please,” Voldemort said while gesturing with his hand at the scared woman.</p><p>Shannon whimpered.</p><p>“It’ll be my pleasure,” Crabbe said and raised his elm wand, pointing it directly at Shannon.</p><p>
  <em>Breathe, in, out. Again. Slow. In, out. Breathe. </em>
</p><p>–––</p><p>“See? It’s not difficult at all.”</p><p>It was hard to hear Aunt Bella over the high-pitched screams of a rat. She’d taken it upon herself to teach Draco the remaining Unforgivables, which was why they were now in the gloom and damp dungeons of Malfoy Manor.</p><p>A cruel smile curled her full lips while her eyes glinted with something sinister. She twisted her wand, and the screams intensified, something he hadn’t imagined would be possible.</p><p>She lifted the curse, the scream stopped, and the rat twitched as it laid on the damp stone floor.</p><p>The dungeon cells were empty at the moment, but a few days earlier they’d been occupied by Muggles. Fenrir had been rewarded, and Draco had been sick.</p><p>“Now it’s your turn,” Aunt Bella said, whipping her head in his direction, making her dark curls bounce on her slim shoulders. She gestured to the rat on the floor.</p><p>Draco tightened his grip on his wand, could feel the magic in his hand. How reluctant it was to do this. How reluctant he was to do this, even if it was just a rat.</p><p>He took a deep breath. “<em>Crucio.”</em></p><p>“Try again, dearest.”</p><p>“<em>Crucio.”</em></p><p>Nothing.</p><p>“Again. You’ll have to mean it.”</p><p>“<em>Crucio!”</em></p><p>Nothing.</p><p>“Again!” she growled, annoyance clear in her tone.</p><p>He clenched his teeth. “<em>Crucio!”</em></p><p>“AGAIN!”</p><p>“<em>Crucio!”</em></p><p>“AGAIN!”</p><p>Draco panted, sweat dripping from his brow.</p><p>
  <em>“Crucio!”</em>
</p><p>“Like this! <em>Crucio! </em>– ” the rat screamed and wriggled in pain – “It isn’t that hard!” she shouted, froth around her mouth and her eyes glinting dangerously, like she was tempted to curse him instead. Maybe she was. “It’s your Father’s fault! So weak. Wouldn’t discipline you.”</p><p>A full size Hungarian Horntail had decided to nap on his chest; his chest was being crushed and his muscles struggled to expand under the weight.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck, fuck, fuck. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Crucio!”</em>
</p><p>“This is pathetic! How are you going to serve our Lord when you can’t even torture their lice?” she spat, her face was contorted in rage, red splotches on her cheeks. Her dark eyes narrowed, promising murder – or pain.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Aunt Bella,” Draco panted, sweat running down his back – his clothes sticking to his skin. He wiped his brow.</p><p>She glared at him – she was going to curse him, he was sure of it, the intensity of her gaze weighed heavily on him, intensifying the prospect of upcoming pain – and then, her face softened. The murderous intent in her eyes vanished like dew in the morning sun, and suddenly the red splotches of anger no longer appeared to be the product of her fury but rather a blush, as if she’d been out in the cold.</p><p>“Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it, I’m sure. It’s unfair to expect perfection in two Unforgivables. You’ve already perfected the Imperio, after all,” she cooed. “Let’s move on to something different, yes?”</p><p>Draco swallowed. Then nodded.</p><p>“Yes, Aunt Bella.”</p><p>She smiled, showing him her rotting teeth. Why she hadn’t had them fixed, he couldn’t understand. She really needed a dentist – or perhaps dentist wouldn’t be the right suggestion, she would kill him for even thinking it. She needed some strong charms to fix her teeth.</p><p>“Now, I’ll admit this one’s a bit more difficult – you’ll have to focus and really mean it in order for it to work,” she said, tapping her wand against her thigh. <em>“Avada Kedavra!” </em>she exploded, a lightning quick movement, and a bolt of jet green light escaping her wand. The still shaking rat went still, the light leaving the black bead eyes. The air felt different: dry with an unpleasant tingle clawing at his spine. It felt… dead. “Now you try.”</p><p>Draco closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.</p><p><em>“Avada Kedavra!” </em>A light green – almost yellow – mist left his wand. It did nothing, didn’t even make the rodent flinch.</p><p>“No, no. Draco, dearest, it’s not enough to wish it dead, you’ll have to <em>really </em>want it, with every fibre in your body,” she cooed. With swift movements she corrected his stan: his arm a little higher, feet wider, his back straighter.</p><p>A new steadying breath. <em>“Avada Kedavra!”</em></p><p>Nothing. He knew it would be nothing, could feel his wand resisting the curse, a resistance matching his own reluctance.</p><p>He wasn’t a murderer.</p><p>Had never been.</p><p>Would never be.</p><p>“Imagine how the light leaves the eyes, the stiffening of their body and the sweet sound of the body hitting the ground,” she whispered gleefully in his ear, her lips touching the shell of his ear, her breath ghosting over his cheek. Draco fought the urge to create distance between them, controlled the shivers running down his spine. Aunt Bella, he thought, wouldn’t be too pleased if he fled from her.</p><p>Could he imagine killing something? He would be off the hook if he killed a rat – and it was only a rat, he’d killed several in potions. Surely, the difference between a numbing spell and a quick slice with his knife and killing it with a curse wasn’t that big, right? It was more humane this way, right? It was a rat, a pest, not a person. He could imagine it, right?</p><p>He closed his eyes, imagined the black eyes staring into the nothingness, the small body going rigid, and the falling of the body.</p><p>
  <em>It’s only a rat, not a person… rats die every day. Potion ingredient, you’ve killed rats before. No big deal. This time… it’s only a rat. It’ll be quick. It won’t feel a thing…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Avada Kedavra!”</em>
</p><p>The disgusting green bolt of light left his wand and the rat dropped dead.</p><p>His stomach flipped.</p><p>Aunt Bella clapped her hands, jumping on the spot making her hair bounce.</p><p>“Well done, Draco!” she praised, a girlish giggle ripping from her lips. He couldn’t control it; he shuddered. She didn’t seem to notice, however, as her eyes were locked on the lifeless from of the rat. The rat he’d just killed. With The Killing Curse. “Again,” she demanded.</p><p>
  <em>“Avada Kedavra!” </em>
</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>Draco deflated, and Aunt Bella puffed up, the glee from seconds ago vanished.</p><p>He closed his eyes, convinced himself of the half-truth, soothed over the part of him that objected.</p><p>
  <em>It’s a rat, it’s a rat… a potion ingredient. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Avada Kedavra!” </em>
</p><p>It dropped dead.</p><p>Aunt Bella made him practice until he could barely stand on his feet, until the lie he told himself came so quick, with so little effort, one would barely notice the brief hesitation. He practiced until one wouldn’t know he was pretending.</p><p>Draco had always been good at pretending.</p><p>The remaining days of the holiday she made him spend hours in the dungeons training the Cruciatus curse – he just couldn’t get it right, didn’t want to get it right, afraid of what it said about him if he succeeded – so many hours with her screaming and raging at him, telling him how Father had been a spineless maggot, how Father was to be blamed for Draco turning out so weak, unable to torture, how he was too much like Father, a slithering snake, too afraid to get their hands dirty, then turning on a plate as she softened and cooed how important he was, how talented he was at the other curses, how he would be a great servant to Voldemort, how proud she was. Her shifting moods was giving him emotional whiplash, and by each time she shifted a stone settled in his stomach. She was more insane than he’d initially thought, the madness ran deep.</p><p>He couldn’t wait to return to Hogwarts and the ancient walls.</p><p>Safety, for a while at least.</p><p>And her.</p><p>***</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Btw, remember the exam my concussed brain tried to forget? I got top marks for that one, which was really nice and unexpected. As I warned before Christmas, I’m now beginning writing on my bachelor. During the next two months I’ll try to update frequently, though no promises. Staring at a screen all day for bachelor writing is hard for a concussed brain and I might need my time off sleeping (or at least not staring at my computer). </p><p>I know I sound like a broken record… but, thank you for reading.</p><p>Much love from me.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Chapter 25</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Hermione </strong>
</p><p>It was the first Christmas she’d spent with her parents in several years, having preferred the company of the Weasleys in the magical world as to the Muggle one, a world she no longer felt she belonged to, disconnected to it even. A feeling which had only progressed the longer she’d been a part of the magical world. She didn’t feel at home in the mundane Muggle world.</p><p>The day before Christmas it was pouring down from a dark sky. It was tradition for them to go to the nearest forest at find a tree, and Hermione had always looked forward to spending the day with her parents, searching for the perfect tree.</p><p>The drive took less than an hour once they escaped London’s traffic.</p><p>The heavy rain had turned into a faint drizzle. It was windy and it cut through her flesh, chilling her to her very core. She shivered in the cold and pulled her jacket closer around her.</p><p>“My, I didn’t expect it to be this cold,” Mum said, while pulling on her gloves. Her breath was white clouds.</p><p>“It is winter,” Dad said. “It would be weird if it wasn’t cold.” He grinned at Mum.</p><p>Mum rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t fight the smile tugging at her lips.</p><p>“Yeah yeah,” she half grumbled, half laughed.</p><p>“Shall we?” Dad asked while gesturing to the forest in front of them with one hand while the other held the chainsaw in a tight grip.</p><p>Both Hermione and Mum nodded and made way to the forest, sidestepping the puddles in gravel parking lot. They were the only people here – the weather too horrid to be outside.</p><p>The forest floor was muddy and slippery by the rain, making the hike to the pine trees treacherous. It didn’t take long for them to be soaked causing them to shiver in the cold. Not even the strain of making their way through the forest could warm them.</p><p>Hermione’s mood had gone down. Holiday tradition or not, this didn’t provoke any warm feelings.</p><p>“Alan, it’s too cold. Perhaps we should buy a tree this year?” Mum said, her teeth clattering.</p><p>“Ah, come, Anne, where’s your sense of adventure?” Dad said, trying hard to lift their moods.</p><p>“Hermione, dear, don’t you know some kind of magic to help keep us warm?” Mum asked, a desperate plead in her brown eyes.</p><p>Ron’s voice came to mind (are you a witch or not?) and Hermione berated herself. Why hadn’t she thought of that? She could’ve saved her parents from the biting cold.</p><p>“Yes, of course.”</p><p>She brandished her wand and flicked it while mumbling an enchantment. The effect was immediate; she was warmed from the inside, chasing away the freezing wind and thawing her bones.</p><p>Her parents sighed in relief.</p><p>“Thanks, honey,” Dad said.</p><p>Had she’d been younger he would have ruffled her hair. He used to that all the time.</p><p>It took them an hour to hike to the place they usually found their trees. The hike, though it usually took about twenty minutes, was prolonged by the terrain. They had to carefully place their feet, and, from time to time, had to flail with their arms to keep upright.</p><p>Dad slipped on the mud; he fell on his back with an ‘ooof’.</p><p>“Oh my God, Alan, are you alright?” Mum asked while hurrying to his side. She almost slipped in the mud as well.</p><p>“Yes, yes, only my pride’s been hurt,” he dismissed while struggling to get up. It got him nowhere, as he simply slipped again to fall on his bottom.</p><p>“Here, let me help you,” Mum said while offering him a hand.</p><p>Clasping her hand, he tried to get up. Hermione was watching the scene unfold in slow motion: Dad pulled while trying to push away from the slippery ground, Mum’s foot slipped and she lost her balance, tumbling forward and knocking Dad over again, landing on his chest. Their noses touched and Mum’s tresses acted like a curtain obscuring the view.</p><p>“Hello dear,” Dad said, brushing some her hair out of Mum’s face with muddied fingers.</p><p>Mum blushed scarlet, a wonderful colour complimenting her skin.</p><p>“Hi,” she whispered.</p><p>Hermione averted her eyes, feeling like an intruder to this intimate moment between her parents.</p><p>Mum got up easily enough, but Dad continued to struggle, not finding his footing in the mud.</p><p>“No, Alan – if you’ll just –”</p><p>“Ooof!”</p><p>Dad fell flat on his back again, the mud cascading around him, splattering all over Mum and Hermione. Dad remained laying on the ground, his shoulders shaking and, for a second, Hermione worried he’d hurt himself, but then he chuckled. Mum had a horrified expression etched in her face, blinking owlishly at Dad. She couldn’t control the laughter escaping her.</p><p>Their laughter filled the cold winter air and lifted the atmosphere, though something held her back, refused to allow her to truly enjoy herself, almost like a nagging in the back of her head.</p><p>---</p><p>Mum hummed along to the song playing on the radio while she prepared their Christmas dinner. Dad was propped up in his favourite armchair, reading a book in the living room. Hermione was snuggling on the couch, her nose buried deep in a book of her own, with Crookshanks resting on her stomach, purring softly while kneading his paws into her stomach.</p><p>The tree they’d cut yesterday stood in the middle of the living room, ornaments catching the light and blinking back at them. Here and there Hermione spotted the decorations she’d made when she was a small child; a paper angel with uneven sized wings, the star she’d made from matches, the clay ball with uneven paint. Hermione scrunched her nose at the crudely made ornaments, even asked why she would want to keep them, let alone use them, some years ago but Mum had insisted on keeping them, lecturing her about how they were precious to her. Hermione had never mentioned them again, now she only eyed them with an odd mix of distaste and fondness.</p><p>The atmosphere was light and comfortable. Her parents chattered merrily over their dinner, telling her several times how wonderful and happy they were she’d decided to spend Christmas with them, and Hermione soaked in their happiness.</p><p>It was in the middle of raising her fork to her mouth she fully realised something she already knew. It was only the full implication of Dumbledore’s scheduled death really settled like a heavy stone on her shoulders and in her heart.</p><p>This might be the last Christmas she would ever have with her parents. She could die during the war, looming closer and closer like shadows during sunset. They could die; captured and tortured for information or just end up being murdered for their relation to her, history had shown how little Voldemort cared about Muggles and Muggleborns.</p><p>A war was coming. And Hermione needed to be prepared.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <strong>Draco </strong>
</p><p>The landscape passed by too slow for Draco’s liking. The weather had been dreadful after New Years Eve: cold, windy, and raining. Today was no exception. Draco sat back in his seat, staring out at the landscape passing by. Ever since he’d bid Mother farewell the air had felt fresher, cleaner even and a heavy stone had been removed from his chest.</p><p>He could relax here, there were no danger, no threat of torture or murder hanging over his head. He only needed to conceal his intentions from the two boys sitting across from him. They spoke quietly, almost a whisper, but Draco paid them no mind. He cared little for what would happen to them – they’d been revoltingly good at The Unforgivables, The Cruciatus and Killing Curse came to them as easy as breathing, while struggling with Imperio. They’d taken great pleasure in torturing various prisoners. Crabbe had tortured a woman into insanity and then killed her, a wicked grin on his face the entire time.</p><p>“Malfoy,” Goyle called pulling him from his thoughts.</p><p>“What?” Draco asked, not removing his eyes from the landscape.</p><p>“Are you going to tell us what your mission is?” Goyle asked.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Why not? We’re marked, just like you,” Crabbe said. Draco still didn’t look at them.</p><p>“Why are you acting like your better than us?” Goyle asked.</p><p>Draco sneered at him. “I am better than you. I was initiated earlier than you and I got a mission.”</p><p>Out the corner of his eyes, Draco could see Crabbe clench his hands, a vein on his hand popped out. “We have a right to know,” he stubbornly persisted.</p><p>“No, you don’t. If you had any right, any role to play besides making my mission easier, then The Dark Lord would have told you. But alas, he didn’t,” Draco snapped.</p><p>Goyle remained quiet, accepting whatever outcome this quarrel had.</p><p>“I won’t accept –”</p><p>“Shut your fucking mouth or I’ll let The Lord know of your distrust in his plans!” Draco interrupted, finally glaring at the boy. Crabbe’s mouth shut close with enough force to make his teeth clatter. Draco wouldn’t be surprised if one of his teeth broke.</p><p>“You wouldn’t dare,” Crabbe ground out through gritted teeth.</p><p>“Try me,” Draco half purred, half whispered, leaning forward in his seat and staring the other boy down.</p><p>Crabbe didn’t answer but lowered his eyes. Satisfied, Draco leaned back in his seat and let his thoughts wander. He couldn’t wait to get inside the castle’s walls.</p><p>–––</p><p>The spirits were high at the Slytherin table; the students surrounding him were laughing and loudly retelling their Christmas evenings.</p><p>Draco partook reluctantly, lies spilling from his lips: uneventful, boring, new clothes, family heirloom, were all lies he told the people asking him. And Draco was an excellent liar, the others swallowing the tainted words without question, not noticing how exhausted he was.</p><p>The noise level in The Great Hall rose, higher and higher, as they all waited for Dumbledore to make his entry and welcome them back.</p><p>His eyes wandered through The Great Hall. He hadn’t spotted Granger on the platform in King’s Cross nor in Hogsmeade, and it filled him with nervous energy, an energy that was hard to supress. Every kind of thoughts of catastrophe assaulting him, one worse than the other, until he was ready to plough through the students, searching for her. In another universe he would have. He would’ve marched up to the Gryffindor table and asking where the fuck she was. In another world, if he’d been another person. But Draco wasn’t as brash, as stupid, to openly proclaim her as his when he knew of two Death Eaters watching his every move. He may be safe behind the walls, but not out of danger.</p><p>His eyes darted over their table, not spotting her, only adding fuel to his thoughts – she’d been captured, was starving in a damp dungeon, was being tortured, laying dead in a ditch only Merlin knew where – when he forcefully slowed down and meticulously searched their table, one face at a time, while not being obvious about it; glancing other places, starting a conversation, answering questions. He found the she Weasel – listening to whatever Pansy had to say – and next to her were Potter, a stupid grin on his stupid face – a jab sent in Zabini’s direction, teasing him about being able to take a proper bath – a mop of read hair in front of Potter, probably Weasel – Zabini promising regret for the jab, Draco laughed – Longbottom sitting further down the row, and there, next to him, the ridiculous hair giving her away, sat Granger, a pretty smile on her face. A knot unwound in his chest, banishing the horrible scenarios of her.</p><p>Sensing his gaze, her eyes snapped up, searching the tables. Her eyes found his.</p><p>“Pathetic Mudblood, don’t you think? Sending you dirty looks, the nerve of her,” Pansy whispered in his ear, and Draco fought the urge to laugh. If only Pansy knew half the truth. The looks Granger sent him were more than welcome, they were wanted.</p><p>“Mmm, I know, someone ought to teach her her place,” he replied, already picturing how he would show her where she belonged.</p><p>“She should be grateful of the Mudblood loving headmaster.”</p><p>Draco made a noncommittal sound at the back of his throat, keeping his eyes trained on Granger and then, turned his head the slightest bid.</p><p>Granger broke eye contact and went back to her conversation with Longbottom. Draco tore his eyes from her as well, concentrating on anything but Granger, though his eyes would occasionally find her again. Just for a second.</p><p>Draco followed the throng of people milling out of The Great Hall, followed the green and silver cladded students to the dungeons.</p><p>–––</p><p>Draco had assumed, that once the blasted cabinet had been fixed, it would allow him to catch up on the sleep he’d lost. It’d been a childish hope, he knew, but he’d longed to just snuggle up in his bed, not feeling the pressure forcing him to get up.</p><p>He longed to just sleep in, to pull the duvet up to his chin and flipping onto his other side, not caring one bit about anything.</p><p>He found himself unable. He would wake up around five o’clock – his eyes flying open, the promise (or was it a threat?) of a new day chased away the sleep and left him staring at the canopy of his bed, tossing and turning as he no longer had books to frantically search through, until curfew lifted and he could get out of bed to make the walk to The Great Hall, where he would find the Slytherin table empty. The other tables were mainly empty as well, Hufflepuff rarely had any students to be up this early, Ravenclaw had quite a few where the majority would be preoccupied with a book, absentmindedly eating their food, and Gryffindor… Gryffindor would be empty as well, the lions preferred to sleep in. Except her.</p><p>His wild haired witch was an early riser, he’d’ learned. This morning her hair had decided to up the frizz.</p><p>Draco poured himself a cup of coffee, a beverage he’d suddenly found to be an invaluable part of his day, while discreetly watching Granger pour herself a cup of tea.</p><p>A week into the new term, and they still hadn’t met up.</p><p>With swift movements she found a book, flipping through the pages while occasionally staring over the rim of the pages, catching his eyes.</p><p>Slowly the Hall filled with students. Soon he found himself surrounded by Slytherins, his view to Granger blocked by green and silver, yellow and black, blue and bronze and red and gold. It made his lips purse.</p><p>All throughout the day he found Granger deeply engrossed in a book; it would completely hide her face, her unruly mane the only give away to her identity.</p><p>After classes he brought Crabbe and Goyle – now disguised as two Muggle girls in too big Slytherin robes, thanks to the Polyjuice Potion they’d bought – to the floor where he’d made them think he was plotting a plan and made them keep watch as he snuck back to the Grand Staircase and climbed the stairs to the seventh floor.</p><p>The room welcomed him, as it’d done the previous evenings, the fire roaring in the hearth. Draco made himself comfortable in the armchair, flipping through his homework.</p><p>The second the handle was pressed down he was up; his chair landed on the floor with a bang from the force of getting up. Quick as a striking snake he snatched her hand, hauling her inside the room, closing the door behind her and pressed her against the wall, burying his head in the crock of her neck, his hands firmly placed on her hips. He breathed in the scent of her skin and hair.</p><p>Her pulse fluttered under his lips as he kissed her soft skin.</p><p>His lips found hers, and his hands wound themselves in her soft curls, tugging at the strands to allow him to deepen the kiss. With a mewling sound she complied. Her hands found his hair as well, finger nails scraping his scalp and pleasant shivers ran down his spine.</p><p>They parted for air, both out of breath. Her lips were kiss swollen, enticing and beckoning him to have another taste.</p><p>“I missed you too,” she breathed, her bright golden eyes locked on him.</p><p>Gingerly, he swept wisps of hair behind her ear, gracing her cheek in the motion. Granger leaned into his touch.</p><p>Grabbing his hand, she pulled him towards the couch.</p><p>She snuggled up against him, her back against his chest. He savoured the warmth she emanated.</p><p>“How was your Holiday?” he asked her while his fingers drew absent patterns on her skin, ghosting over it in featherlight touches.</p><p>“Fine. Nothing much happened. It was nice to be home for Christmas again, though.”</p><p>“Again?”</p><p>“Yeah, uhm, these last few years I usually spent Christmas with the Weasleys.”</p><p>His fingers froze on her skin. “You did?” even to his own ears his voice was strained.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>He forced his fingers to resume their random patterns. “Why?” Carefully she extracted herself from him, readjusting such as she was facing him. His fell limply down his lap.</p><p>“I grew up in the Muggle world, it is a part of me, yet I no longer belong. It’s strange, my parents love me, and I love them, but I no longer feel completely at home. A big part of me is missing.” She shrugged.</p><p>He supposed her could follow her reasoning, they made sense.</p><p>“I understand.”</p><p>“How about your Holiday?”</p><p>“Fine. Nothing of interest happened.”</p><p>Granger narrowed her eyes. “You’re lying,” she accused. How the fuck did she now? He was an excellent liar.</p><p>“Am not!”</p><p>“Yes, you are. And you’re lying again.”</p><p>“How do you know?” He grumbled, pressing his lips together to form a thin line. He eyed her with narrow eyes. Since when did she know when he was lying?</p><p>“I just do. Now, are you telling me the truth or am I going to hex it out of you?”</p><p>Draco chewed the inside of his cheek. Granger knew about him, knew of his shame. But, he didn’t want her to know of this. How would he be able to look her in the eye and tell her he’d been sitting by while some poor Muggle had been tortured and murdered in his house? Or how he’d practiced torturing and killing in the dungeons? She would be repulsed. He certainly was.</p><p>“Draco,” she said in her bossy tone that broke no argument. She had a hard set of her jaws. “What happened?”</p><p>Swallowing his lips parted and reluctantly spilled the secrets he kept. Granger, with her sun kissed skin, turned pale; all blood drained from her face, leaving her a sickly appearance.</p><p>“Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” she asked, while her fingers searched his body for wounds, pushing his sleeves up – the hideous Mark revealed, it made him flinch – tracing his skin with her fingers, while her eyes darted over his form, as if she could suddenly see through his clothes and spot the non-existent wounds.</p><p>“I’m fine.” It didn’t not stop her frantic hands. He clasped her hands in his, forcing her to stop, her eyes snapped to his. “Truly.”</p><p>With a small tug on her hand, she resettled herself against him. The sweet roses of her hair wafting up his nose. He resumed the pattern drawing on her arm.</p><p>“Has your training with Dumbledore begun?” she asked him after several minutes of companiable silence, which was only interrupted by the crackling from the fire.</p><p>“No. I haven’t yet received an invitation either.”</p><p>“That’s odd, don’t you think?”</p><p>“Why would it be odd?”</p><p>“He promised to begin your training when we returned.”</p><p>“It’s only been a week, Granger. He’s probably busy with something important.”</p><p>“Hmpf,” she said, sounding utterly displeased.</p><p>“Don’t think too much of it. I’m sure we’ll begin soon,” he soothed, kissing her neck. His hands slipped under her dress, caressing her folds for a moment before slipping past her waistband, rubbing the small bundles of nerves.</p><p>“Don’t think you can slither out of this,” she breathed through a moan.</p><p>“I think I already have.”</p><p> </p><p>Under his pillow he found a scribbled note from Dumbledore.</p><p>He would begin his training the very next day.</p><p>***</p>
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